


California Dreaming

by Eisengrave, Maelikki



Category: South Park
Genre: Fight Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rivalry, Staig medium rare, obligatory summer camp with a twist, pining for other people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-02 17:11:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 54,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13322733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisengrave/pseuds/Eisengrave, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maelikki/pseuds/Maelikki
Summary: Coach decides that the football team needs to go on a month-long training retreat. Where Stan Marsh sees four weeks without his best friend at his side, Craig Tucker sees opportunity. It's not a gay thing. He just wants to fuck with South Park's favorite quarterback, really. [As in, let's pretend summer camp boyfriends are totally a thing and maybe everyone's a little gay]Edit: It kind of turned into Football AU, I'm not sorry.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Despite my staggering feelings for Stan/Kyle, this city ship slipped its way in. This is an rp, which is why the pov changes every couple of paragraphs. Please wave your hands at the lack of actual football knowledge and the extensive amount of horny teenage boy. Well. You're probably here for it.

“Camp?”

 

“No, a retreat. It’s for the whole team. You don’t really have a choice, your father already paid and signed.”

 

Stan groaned extra loudly at that. Of course his dad had signed him up. Of course Randy had thrown money away, just to make sure his son would continue to be the star he could be proud of, without ever truly contributing any valuable parenting.

The coach mustered him for a moment longer, assessing his star quarterback in the making.

“You would have gone, one way or the other, Marsh. Now get out of here. Little league’s meeting here today.”

 

Stan nodded distantly, gathering up his bag and helmet and kicking his locker shut. This was just about the worst news he could get, one week before the summer vacation began. It would be the last of its kind, and Stan had intended to spend it with Kyle and Kenny (and Cartman, by extension), for old times’ sake. Hopefully with less government and alien involvement. Maybe some camping, definitely no ziplining. But all of those plans had just crumbled, because college football was a thing and the scouts would be all over the county next season, so coach Mason had decided that a four-week retreat was in order for the entire team. The South Park Cows were just about the only successful team in their entire city, and it was embarrassing how many adults cared about each football game (and attended it, rowdily). So yes. Of course Stan had to go.

Mournfully, he texted Kyle as soon as he got into his car, a beat up old Golf that he was irrationally proud to own. 

_Guess who has to go to football camp next week :(_

 

The answer came almost instantly.

_… you’re fckn kidding?? How long?_

It was clear from the two questions that Kyle wasn’t amused  at all about these news. Not that he hated Stan playing football or anything, no, he was happy his best friend was cheered for and famed, but if there was one thing he really disliked about the whole football business it was that it took so much of Stan’s time.

Vacation usually was football-free time, and this was their very last summer!

 

_4 weeks :((_

Stan could practically hear Kyle’s angry typing from across town. Of course he was pissed. They’d been planning their last summer for ages now, and Stan had sort of envisioned that he might actually confess to Kyle before they both started their senior year, but now every plan they had was in ruins. Thanks to his stupid dad and stupid football.

 

_Sucks major ass, dude._

Kyle’s answer, even though it did not contain any emoticons, conveyed enough of his disappointment if only because he was using correct punctuation. Four weeks were long, very long, especially if it was Stan that wasn’t there. Kenny and especially Cartman could be gone, Kyle wouldn’t have minded as much, but of course it had to be his super best friend. He was angry, sure, and the day was fucked up as was summer, but Kyle knew Stan probably felt worse already and guilty on top.

_It’s just half the time though. We got four weeks after._

 He added a poop smiley for good measure and waited. Stan didn’t deserve his rage, Kyle was certain he’d been signed up by his dad who thought damn football was the best thing ever for his perfect boy.

 

_Yeah. plenty of time to plan how we lose fatass in the mountains while camping. CoD tonight?_

 Stan hoped he’d at least manage to make Kyle smile. He hated the way his best friend sucked in all his rage and stuffed it down. He was pretty sure Kyle was ninety percent pure, festering anger at this point. The other ten percent were all brain, because somehow, even with all of his extracurriculars, Kyle was topping every class. It was the only kind of topping he was doing, yes, but his lack of interest in sex and dating was a topic Stan didn’t bring up anymore. Not after the fight they’d had two years ago that nearly saw him turn his back entirely on his best friend and the boy he was pining after hopelessly.

Stan shoved all thoughts of it aside. He had four weeks away from Kyle, during which he could figure out what to do with the ballooning feeling in his stomach, each and every time they stood too close together or hugged for a little too long.

 

_Yea. I’ll come over around six._

 t least they still had the weekend to hang out. And, well, then they had four weeks in which meticulous planning could be done so they’d have the most fun in the smallest amount of time possible.

Kyle was a master at efficient optimization.

 

_A week later..._

 

The bus was already filling up with teenagers while outside, parents and siblings and girlfriends were waving or saying goodbye, sending off their respective beloved one into four weeks of horror camp somewhere Craig hadn’t even bothered to look up. His mom had put his swimming trunks on his bed though alongside with sun blocker, so that was some sort of hint or whatever, so he had packed some t-shirts, sunglasses and shorts together with the obvious hoodies because Colorado boys always were prepared for the cold.

Clyde had insisted on the window seat and Craig didn’t really give a fuck. He’d peeked out of the window earlier only to see Trisha flip him off and grin at him because she’d be able to hog the Xbox for four weeks straight playing her stupid barbie games.

 

He put in his earbuds and pulled the hood over his head, ignoring the world around him whilst listening to something far too upbeat from the 80's. After his breakup with Tweek he’d banned anything remotely Metal from his playlists, but right about now, some guy screaming about death and murder seemed to be just right to fit his mood. Unfortunately, all he had was Laura Branigan definitely not serenading death or murder. And on top of that, he had four weeks of doing nothing he enjoyed.

His summer was fucking _ruined._

 

Three hours later Craig had enough of Clyde drooling on his shoulder, so he shook him off and got up, deciding that, well, he might as well sit somewhere else.

Token was sitting with Matt, Jake and Kevin were being gaywads about some movie they were watching together. As Craig moved backwards in the bus, he set his mind on just grabbing a seat somewhere alone, but it seemed like most seats were already blocked. Craig felt the urge to beat up Ian for falling asleep on the aisle seat, he could have _sat_ there, but then he did find a free seat after all.

Next to Marsh, who looked like someone had thrown up in his cereal this morning. So, normal, more or less. Craig made up his mind.

He ignored the glare coming his way and spread his whole mass into the seat. Maybe he could rile him up a little, that would at least brighten Craig’s day.

 

Stan had been content to sit on his own. He even, pointedly, had spread out so that his legs were in the space of the seat beside him. But of course, Craig fucking Tucker didn’t care about shit like personal space or definite glares of ‘go away or I will punch you in the dick’.  The guy bombed into the seat next to him and Stan plucked one headphone out of his ear, nose wrinkled.

 “Dude, no. Sit somewhere else.”

He still hated Craig. They’d been playing on a team together for years, but there was just something about the guy that riled Stan up endlessly. And no, it wasn’t just the stupid list that the girls continued to vote over, every week. Number one hot guy, or whatever. Craig wasn’t even that good-looking. He just had that Chris Evans dorito-body shape, that was all. It didn’t make up for asshole personality whatsoever.

 

Craig casually flipped him off, right in his pretty little face, then continued to ignore him, but spread his legs further to firmly mark the space that was his now.

It did please him however to know that Marsh was boiling inside, that he didn’t want this and yet didn’t do anything about it. They had a bit of leg shoving and pressing against each other going on, but Craig wasn’t going to budge. This was his seat now, won and claimed. Star quarterback or not, Stan still received from him.

 He leaned back and gave Stan his usual, bored glare. Somehow, he wanted Marsh to be pissy. At least some fun on this boring-ass trip.

 

Craig was obnoxious. Stan plugged his headphone back in after losing the silent struggle of their legs shoving against each other. He huffed a sigh and looked out of the window. Fine. He was going to be the adult here and not turn this entire trip into a petty war. Even if Craig was definitely the worst guy on the team. Stan still vividly felt the marks from when Craig had thought it was a fun idea to whip him with a wet towel. The guy was just a damn sadist, no matter how good a center he was. If Stan could vote anyone off of the team...

Ignoring him worked for about an hour. Then, Craig’s elbow digging into his side was too much. Stan snarled a wordless little warning, shimmying around in his seat. Then the snarl gained verbal reinforcement.

“What is your damage, Craig? It’s bad enough I’m stuck going on this stupid-ass trip, you don’t have to be a dick on top of it!” 

 

Craig didn’t change his bored expression, he only quirked his left eyebrow slightly as he regarded Stan and removed one earpiece.

“Come again?” 

His voice however had changed from its usual disinterested monotone sound to some vaguely provocative tone. He was eager for a little fight, even if it was just verbal.  Seeing Marsh squeezed against the window, looking pissed off and defensive did something to Craig, something warm and pleasant and rewarding. Bullying people was generally that, but Marsh had just the right amount of fire and muscle to back it up to really get him going.

Craig was pretty sure if he’d fight with Marsh again like they’d done after he’d slapped him with the wet towel, he was going to have a great time jerking it.  It wasn’t really about being gay or anything, Craig wasn’t gay, he just got off on dominating people, that was it. The stronger the person, the hotter it got, there was nothing else about it.

 

“I said you’re being a dick, dick.” Stan rolled his eyes for effect. He knew he was being prickly as a cactus (or Kyle) right now, but Craig had it coming. He was sitting here to piss Stan off, no other reason. The guy didn’t have any redeeming qualities. The only time he hadn’t been awful was when the world thought he was gay.  And to be honest, gay Craig had been as obnoxious as straight Craig. His sexuality really didn’t do anything in regards to that personality. At least his voice had deepened, but it was still terribly nasal. As if Stan needed any further proof that Craig Tucker was awful.

“Sit somewhere else. Isn’t Clyde gonna cry if you abandon him? Your tight-end buddy?”

 

Craig snorted, he actually liked that one. Clyde was a fucking tight-end alright and everyone knew it.  Instead of getting up and sitting somewhere else like Marsh so helpfully suggested, Craig reached out to drape an arm tightly around Stan’s shoulder, pulling him in roughly, more into a chokehold than into an actual hug.

“Coach said you and I were supposed to get along better. Now say cheese and be happy, Marsh, this is the best trip of your life, remember?”

Craig pulled him in such a position that Mason could see them from where he had gotten up to look around if everyone was behaving.  When he’d sat down again, Craig tightened his hold, just to mess with Marsh a little more before he ruffled his hair wildly and finally let him go.

“You and I are gonna have a great time. I’m not gonna leave your side. You can say thanks to the coach later.”

 

“Fuck you. Seriously, man. I will put my foot up your ass if you make this stupid trip worse than it already is.”

Of course Craig wanted to make this a hellish experience. He had all of his friends with him. Clyde and Token were on the team, Jimmy somehow weedled himself between the coach and players as both Hype man and team morale upkeep manager. Stan? Well...Stan was vaguely friends with most of the team, but not enough to consider them close. Definitely not close enough to hang around. Sometimes, he cursed the fact that Kyle could only get it up for basketball and Kenny was more interested in fucking anything with a pulse than sports. He'd even take Cartman's wide ass over being alone. He knew the team, of course, and he had that whole, casual sports buds thing going on, but they weren't his _friends_. Without them, Stan felt kind of naked. It was okay during practice and games. He got to go home afterwards.

But here? He was stuck with no way out.

 

Meanwhile, Craig opened a bag of doritos and plucked a jar of nacho cheese out of his backpack. Not that he was gonna share it at all, even though he knew Marsh fucking loved that stuff, especially the cheese.

Alright, there might be one chance for him to get some and that was if he asked really fucking nicely.  It was common knowledge that the coach didn’t like them eating garbage as he called it, but Craig couldn’t care less. Mason also told him frequently to stop smoking, but he had flipped the guy off countless of times and still proceeded to amaze both audience and commentators as well as unsuspecting enemies with brute force and respectable stamina.

Coach could kiss his ass for all Craig cared.

“Careful, Marsh, you might break a toe if you try that.” He answered the earlier threat nonchalantly.

 

If the bus had an emergency hammer by the window on Stan’s side, he might have been tempted to take it and bash his way to freedom. This trip was already shaping up to be hell, and they’d only been on the road for three of the sixteen hours it would take to get there. Plus, the smell of cheese and doritos was wafting over and reminding Stan than he’d eaten only a banana for breakfast and damn, he didn’t exactly pack a lunch. All he had were sports drinks and chewing gum for the trip. Some people had to actually carefully tailor their diet to their physique and were not named Craig 'I can eat whatever I want'Tucker.

“...you gonna eat that right in front of me, huh?”

 

“Yeah.” Craig answered, a hint of smugness in his voice. He chewed some more of the crispy treats and watched Marsh pout about it and glare out of the window. T here wasn’t much to spend thoughts on there, however, other than Marsh and how Craig could keep him on edge.  Currently, he seemed to try hard to ignore him, but that wasn’t how this was going to work. Craig was the playmaker in this game.

The bag of doritos found its way right under Stan’s nose whilst Craig kept a lookout for Mason.  When Marsh didn’t move, Craig sent him a glare as if Stan was the dumbest idiot he’d ever met.

“He’s not looking. Go on.”

 

Stan’s hand moved before his mind did and dove deeply into the bag, grabbing not one or two chips, but an entire handful. Why Craig was being nice all of a sudden, he didn’t know, and he’d be sure to analyze the crap out of it after the situation was over. But for now, he stuffed doritos into his mouth, enjoying their very unhealthy appeal with the zeal of any averagely sized horse. Kyle always said that Stan ate like one (or, more fittingly, a cow) since he started on the team and Stan was inclined to agree. The cheese, however, was still out of reach. Stan risked it, dipping a dorito into the depths of Craig’s lap (where the jar was balanced on a knee) and drowning the corn chip in its processed goodness.

 

Craig eyed him stuffing his face with the chips as if he hadn’t eaten anything in three months. His eyebrows, both of them, wandered up and his attention was entirely drawn away from Mason when Stan went for the cheese, practically drenching his dorito in it. As if he tried to scoop up as much as was possible to fit on one chip.

“Didn’t you have breakfast?”

To be entirely fair, Craig hadn’t really been interested in breakfast, but his mom had made sure to pack him a selection of sandwiches and snacks, so he wasn’t in any danger of starvation for, well, the next three days at least.

“You eat like a fucking horse, Marsh.”

Craig felt generous, especially since there was something about the face Marsh pulled. He placed the bag between them and readied the flip-tray from Stan’s front seat to put the cheese on it. Kind of like a peace offering, really. He had to keep it just the right amount of bothering and smothering to gain the most fun out of it.

 

“You sound like Kyle. Except a dick.” Stan was amenable to the peace offering, though he probably shouldn’t trust it at all. Craig was being weirdly nice, and he suspected it was only a method to fuck with Stan later.

Whatever. Doritos.

“I figured we’d stop for food along the way. Didn’t realize coach was so cheap he wouldn’t even spring for that.”

Which meant that Stan would have nothing but drinks and these cheesy chips for at least eight hours.

 

Craig shrugged, he had sandwiches. Now that the good deed was done, he fished his Switch out of his backpack and busied himself with that, alongside with his headphones plugged in. Marsh was boring for now, he’d busy himself with him later again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBH this rp is super self-indulgent and puts 0% value in a long build-up. We all know what we're here for.

'Later' turned out to be three hours later, when the bus had stopped so everyone could get up at some roadside shop and have a toilet break or whatever.  Craig left Marsh asleep, the guy would probably wake up on his own, right?

Wrong. Entirely wrong. Marsh slept like a zombie, or a baby. Or a baby zombie, which was probably the most horrifying thing Craig could think of. 

When he returned with an energy drink, enjoying the quiet in the bus, Marsh was still in dreamland, his head resting against the hoodie he’d crumpled together and used as a pillow.  His mouth was slightly open, but he didn’t drool. Plus points that still put him above Clyde in the seat-neighbor olympics. At least he didn't look pissy anymore. In fact, he looked peaceful.  Craig sighed then reached out to shake his arm.

“Hey, Marsh. Wakey-wakey, sunshine or whatever gayass thing your mom calls you. You’re missing the piss break.”

And probably sandwiches, because whilst Craig was happy with his own stash, the rest of the team had gone nuts at the sandwich refrigerator and, well, a whole team of hungry teenage football players ate like twenty cows. Aptly named, so to say. Marsh woke up and grumpily left, Craig enjoyed his quiet alone time until a few minutes later, Marsh was back, looking even more pissed. Goodie.

“What now?”

He knew what was up, he could see it in the way Marsh stared at the sandwiches and snacks piled in front of Craig.

 

“You couldn’t have woken me up in time for food?” Stan knew that Craig had no obligation to do any of that, they weren’t even friends, but it was still a dick move to leave him with nothing. Especially with Tucker’s ample supply, stacked high on his side.

“There’s nothing left.”

And a handful of doritos were not enough to tide over anyone the size of Stan. Especially not without breakfast. Stan’s eyes clung to the food and snacks with longing.

 

“Not my fault you sleep like a fucking baby.”

Craig let him sit on his seat again and then fell into his own. He picked a cheese and ham sandwich (his mom had lovingly colour-coded them all) and unwrapped it, then realized that Marsh was still staring.

Before he bit into his food, he stopped, looking the guy dead in the eye.

“I get to choose the room and first pick of the beds. You get to pick between cheese and ham, turkey and tomatoes and crispy chicken with mayonnaise.” To put emphasis on his words, Craig pulled his backpack up to show Stan the delicious treats inside.

“Oh, yeah, since princess probably missed it due to her 100 years of sleep: We’re roomsharing.”

 

“Great. Wait. What?” 

Why? Why did it have to be Craig? Their names were miles apart alphabetically and no one would willingly make them endure each other. They weren’t friends either. So why? This had to be Craig’s doing. Stan’s head warred with his rumbling stomach and his eyes slid between the sandwiches. He would kill for the crispy chicken, honestly, but the thought of sharing a room with Craig for a month was ruining his appetite.

“Why? Why are we rooming? Why aren’t you with...anyone else?”

 

Marsh’s genuinely annoyed reaction pissed off Craig for real this time.

“Don’t blame this on me, Coach said so. I tried to tell him that it's bullshit, I  _ always _ room with Clyde anyway, but he said that’s exactly why he wants us to room. Cause we don’t wanna. And he’s gonna give us shit if we don’t do it.”

He closed up the backpack and stored it back under his seat. Now Marsh had to beg for it and Craig would get to choose room and his bed.  The cheese-and-ham was great and he bit into it with quite the appetite. Sure this trip was shit and all, but his family had to cancel this year’s vacation to finance it, so Craig needed to at least not be sent home early. Which meant he had to be on some form of good behavior. And if that meant he had to roomshare with Marsh, then that would be his price to pay.

 

Stan folded his arms and sunk into his seat, stomach grumbling and a slow headache developing, somewhere behind his left eye. This trip couldn’t really get much worse, could it? He had vowed not to complain to Kyle every single day that he was gone, but the injustice of his roomie and the lack of food were turning him whiny, fast. He fished out his phone, and it beeped at him with a low battery warning. Fuck. Did he leave that stupid game running?

_ I hate everything about this trip already. Gotta room with Craig. Phone’s nearly dead. Save me. _

Just as he sent the text, his screen went blank. His charger was tucked safely into his luggage in the compartment below the carriage of the bus and entirely out of reach. Stan groaned, loudly, letting his head hit his seat.

“Hey Craig?”

 

“... what?” Came the reply between sandwich bites. Craig was busy going through his phone, though he had resorted to not gaming on it in order to save battery. Instead, he was chatting with several girls at once. They all missed him ‘sooo much heart smiley kiss smiley’. Having a selection of people at your disposal, however, didn’t mean anything got better. Craig had already learned that and it had only been half a year since the breakup with Tweek. That whole debacle had been a nightmare, since everyone got involved. Explaining that they'd been together for the sake of the town's progressive peace of mind didn't really work. But this time, he and Tweek didn't actually have to act anything out. Their breakup was a mutually agreed upon thing. It had even hurt, really, to end what was essentially the closest friendship Craig had ever had. But he wasn't like that and at their age, he had a lot of catching up to do. 

At least he wasn’t ‘the gay guy’ anymore, having dated some girls publicly, for a day or two. The longest had been a week, and all of his relationships ended in a text from him, informing the unfortunate girl on the other end that things were not working out. He never really apologized, either. He knew he could be a dick, but the less he cared, the more they wanted him. It was an endless puzzle that he'd given up on trying to solve.

Craig didn’t miss anyone really, not even his family. He didn’t really mind going on a trip either, it was just that people annoyed the fuck out of him and summer camp meant he had nowhere to go. 

 

“...what do you want for a sandwich?”

First pick of the bed in their room would hardly be sufficient. Stan should have taken the deal earlier, before it was whisked out of his hands. But then again, he did just learn of the potential misery in his immediate future, so someone (Craig) should cut him some slack.

 

Craig perked up. The way Marsh asked the question had quite the amount of options pop up in his head, some of them more PG in nature, others not so much.  His gaze ran over Marsh’s face, the guy looked grumpy and still a bit sleepy, his hair flat on one side and messed up on the other and his too-cute-to-be-manly nose was slightly scrunched up. 

“Depends on what kind you want.”

To tease him a bit more, Craig pulled the backpack out again and opened it. “Yellow’s cheese and ham, blue’s turkey and red’s crispy chicken.”

He didn’t really have to ask because Marsh’s gaze was fixated on that one crispy chicken. Craig took it and put it on his flip-tray, then looked Stan straight in the eye.

“Make out with me like you mean it. If you want that sandwich, that is.”

 

That had Stan’s eyes roll up to Craig’s face, rather than the sandwich. His growling stomach was forgotten, at least for now. He must be hearing things wrong. Did Craig just suggest that instead of beating the shit out of each other, they should be...kissing?

“Dude, that’s...” _gay, yes_. Was Craig? No, he’d made sure that everyone knew he was into girls after breaking up with Tweek. He’d never been gay either, responding only to South Park’s obsession with their supposed love.  So, what the fuck was this about? Stan felt ice on his spine. Maybe Craig _knew_. About him. About Stan’s unsavory thoughts. Stan’s long showers and choked whispers asking for something really, really gay from Kyle. Fuck. That ice was melting into a nervous bubbling in his stomach. He hadn't even told Kyle yet...why did Craig know? Did he have some sort of radar for it now? 

“...Fine. But not here, right?”

 

Something reached Craig’s icy eyes, a triumphant little glint, but it was gone as soon as it had arrived. Or maybe it was because he reached overhead and turned off the seat lighting. The bus, still empty, engine turned off, went entirely dark.

“Right here, right now, Marsh.”

It wasn’t that he was gay for Marsh, couldn’t be because one, he wasn’t gay and two, if he was gay for anyone then probably Tweek. Oh and three, he wasn’t fucking gay.

No, this was different, this was about winning. Bringing him to do things he wouldn’t usually dare with his fragile ego. Making Marsh finally _submit_.  They stared at each other in the dark. Once their eyes had grown accustomed to the lighting, Craig could study his face. He seemed to hesitate, still, and Craig had enough.

He reached out and grabbed Marsh’s hoodie, pulling him in real close. His breath was faster than usual and somehow, that sent just the right amount of tingling down his spine. 

“You want that sandwich or not?” Craig whispered, his lips almost touching Stan’s as they moved to form the words.

 

“Fuck you, Tucker,” Stan was hungry as hell and it was dark. There was something about the way Craig was in his face, invading his personal space. Demanding, when he really, had no fucking leg to stand on. 

No one would know. If Craig told people, then everyone would know that he was the fucking freak, asking for weird, gay things for food. Stan had never felt kinship with a hooker before, so you know, this trip was already shaping up to be a learning experience of the worst kind. Stan bit the bullet. And in this case, it meant closing his eyes (even though it was dark) and tilting his head forward and pressing his lips to Craig’s. He ignored how it felt and tasted, at least for the second that his brain revolted at the notion of kissing Craig _fucking_ Tucker.

And then, he let it happen. He was supposed to make it good. Make out, Craig had demanded, not just a frigid kiss. Fine. Tucker wanted to embarrass him, or something. Fucking asshole. Stan wasn’t homophobic, he was, in fact, aggressively bisexual (in the closet), so Craig was in for a fucking surprise. Kissing a guy was different. Kissing a guy you didn’t like was bizarre. Stan let go, kissing for the sake of it, and it got better. His tongue traced over Craig’s lips, stomach greedily reminding him that sandwiches were awesome at the taste and suddenly, Stan found his enthusiasm. His hand found Craig’s collar, tugging hard for the guy to come closer. Suddenly there were teeth and tongues and lips, all meeting in a botched, little dance and the ice in his spine melted. 

 

Craig did not, in fact, want to embarrass him, he wanted to happen exactly what was happening right now. After a rather disappointing start which in itself would definitely not won him that sandwich, Marsh picked up on it and did what he was asked to do. For a while, Craig just let him kiss on him. Marsh’s lips were surprisingly supple and he had a fucking cheeky tongue. He also tasted vaguely like chewing gum and was pulling him in like he was the one in charge. Craig couldn’t let that happen. Pushing Stan back and into his seat, Craig was on him, completely denying him any kind of control in the kiss. He licked, sucked and bit however he wanted and Marsh was just the lucky recipient. Lucky, because Craig had tons of practise and he knew just what to do to make a guy’s knees wobbly.

It was also on Craig to stop it, so he did, pulling away only after he’d properly ravaged Marsh. To his additional pleasure, Marsh was out of breath. Craig sucked in his lower lip and the guy let it happen, with a tiny hitch of his breath, but no defensive response.

“Good boy.” Craig hummed, deep and pleased with himself and Stan. He sat back and pushed the sandwich in Stan’s hands.

“You earned that. Enjoy.”

 

Thunderstruck was an adequate term for Stan’s reaction. He sat with the sandwich in hand, staring into the dark for at least a full minute. His heart was pounding in his ears, which felt entirely too warm for comfort. The lights in the bus flickered on, the rest of the team returning to their seats, the coach herding them in. The cold air that rushed in from the open doors helped Stan calm down, and, you know, get back to reality. Which saw him urgently unwrap the sandwich and eat it. Crispy chicken was delicious, but Stan no longer knew whether or not it had been worth the price. 

He decided that he needed to forget this happened. Or rather, that it had happened for a reason he didn't understand. Craig wanted to fuck with him. That much was clear, but why he would do it like this for any other reason than that he knew Stan was currently struggling with his sexuality eluded him. 

Without music or Kyle’s texts for company, he fell asleep again once the bus started moving. Hopefully, by the time he woke up, they’d arrive in California, and he could figure out why the hell Craig Tucker had it in for him so badly right now. Or that it had all been a nightmare. Yeah.

 

 

At least Marsh had been quiet for the rest of the trip and Craig could sit and sleep in peace.  The guy had been adequately overwhelmed from his first taste of other things that could happen when they were room sharing. 

Craig was not beyond going further than just kissing, it wasn’t really about homo things anyway, but there was definitely something about imagining Marsh on his knees, asking for dick. Maybe he’d get him there.

They arrived at the hotel (yeah, it was a real hotel) around noon and this time, Marsh was up earlier than him and shaking him awake.

Craig groaned and peeled himself out of the seat, grabbing his stuff before he left the bus. Mason handed out the keys, his and Marsh’s first, as was law. His large bag with all his clothes and stuff  slung around his shoulders, the backpack in hand and the bag for his equipment in the other, Craig made his way to the room, a nice apartment with a veranda to walk out on that had a path right to the beach.

They even had a small kitchen and the bathroom wasn’t too shabby - except the beds looked like the hotel had expected a fucking couple to live here. Craig would’ve complained, but he left that to Marsh and instead picked the bed closer to the window by throwing all of his bags on it.

“Looks like we got the honeymoon suite, baby.”

 

Stan had crowded into the suite behind Craig, equally packed with luggage. Of course, they could have had the bellboys bring it up, but coach would never let them slack on something so trivial. Mason had a boner for proving how ‘hardened’ his team was, which was why, on occasion, they’d had some bizarre form of Crossfit assigned to each of them. They’d probably be doing something weird here, too, though from what Stan could see, there was a beach and sunshine that would peel him out of his hoodie. His first order of business was digging out his charger, though and plugging his phone in as he dumped his bags on the bed.

“As long as you don’t get any weird ideas and keep calling me baby, I don’t give a shit.”

The weird memory of kissing Craig had not yet disappeared and Stan didn’t think he could forget it easily, either. Even if it had been dumb. Something about Craig grabbing him and controlling him had almost lead to an unwanted boner, and Stan had to sit and think about the implications of that.

 

That had Craig chuckle as he pushed open the glass door to the terrace and fumbled for his cigarettes, self-rolled because that was cheaper. Mason was gonna strangle him if he caught him, probably, but everyone was tired including the coach so the plan for the day was meet somewhen late afternoon to walk around and explore and then have dinner together.

Kyle had sent about ten messages since Stan’s phone had given up on him, the first ones acknowledging Stan’s pain and confirming that yes, Tucker was an asshole, the latter ones complaining about the fact Sheila had made her son agree to visiting her sister in Chicago.  The trip alone wasn’t bad, but the fact that he’d be stuck with his cousin and namesake for two weeks made Kyle really unhappy. He’d ended his texts with a ‘bet ur phone went out bc u were gaming’ and then half an hour later a heartfelt ‘miss u alrdy’.

 

Outside, Craig let his eyes wander over the ocean. He’d never actually been at the beach, so this wasn’t bad at all. A slight breeze from the sea made the warm temperature bearable, but he’d already shed his zip-up jacket and was only wearing a shirt and some loose training pants.  He finished the smoke and went back inside only to find Marsh stare at his phone.

“Girlfriend?”

 

Of course he knew about Stan and Wendy, they were  _ the _ couple (especially now that he and Tweek were passé), but they were also incredibly well-known for being an on-off thing. Craig just thought Stan was too easily pussywhipped and honestly, he wouldn’t give two fucks about him being taken during their stay here. If they ended up fucking because Craig said so, then they’d do that, girlfriend or not. Couldn’t be that good a relationship if Marsh agreed to cheating anyway.

 

Stan had no idea what went on in Craig’s head, but he was happy to read all of Kyle’s messages. They made his heart ache for his best friend, who was now even further away. At least he wasn’t stuck with Cartman for two weeks of the four that Stan was away. Eric’s weird, anti-semitic obsession with Kyle had gotten out of hand lately, and Stan found himself bullying in on their usual bickering more often than once. 

“What? No, I broke up with Wendy. Again. Last week. It’s Kyle.” He tried his best not to clutch his phone to his chest.

 

Craig didn’t comment on that, instead he got rid off his socks and shoes and slipped out of the comfy pants, leaving him in only his shirt and the shorts. When he sat down on his bed, he set all his bags on the ground and then decided to remove his shirt as well.

“It’s too freaking hot in here. Turn the AC up when you walk past it.”  Craig couldn’t be bothered, he was going to take a nap and then go shower.

 

“I’m sorry, did I pick up a maid’s uniform on my way in? Do it yourself, lazy ass.” Stan shrugged off the command, flipping Craig off as he began to unpack, ridding himself of his hoodie in favor of a shirt. He wasn’t leaving until he had at least half battery on his phone, though he definitely would go find some food once he did. Fuck doing any more weird, sexual favors for Craig. He was leaving that on the bus, in the dark and out of his mind.

Stan threw himself on his bed, phone in hand, spending the next hour complaining to Kyle about the long, hungry journey here. He made no mention of Craig and his sandwich, though. He was going to take that one to the grave.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Coach Lars Mason wasn’t fucking around. His idea of a good time was running his team up and down the streets of Carlsbad until each of them was dripping in sweat, then practice in full gear when the noon heat began to burn that soft, Colorado skin. By the time the South Park Cows were allowed to hit the communal showers near the swimming pool of their hotel, they looked like they’d trekked through the Nevada desert for the world’s most hardcore, Mad Max style football game in the history of man. 

Everyone was too wrung out and overheated to even groan about it as they rid themselves off the equipment and clothes, but there was a collective sigh of pleasure once the showers went on and everyone washed heat and dirt off with cold water. There were a few complaints, voiced lowly and agreed to by mutual muttering, but no one put it past the coach to come in and have them take another lap outside for being 'whiners' (or whatever other insult to their collective masculinity Mason could come up with).

 

The showers emptied quickly, everyone just wanted to go and sit or lay down somewhere to spend the rest of the day in peace as the coach had promised to leave them alone until at least the next morning. Craig wasn’t swinging any wet towels at naked asses today, he was still standing under the shower, as the other guys cleared out. Token gave him a look that he ignored, before shrugging and herding Clyde out for some well-deserved down-time.  Craig paid them no mind, instead staring at the only other guy left in the steamy, tiled room.

Marsh had just finished washing his hair, now standing there, face up towards the spray of water, probably enjoying his moment of quiet. So was Craig, he could appreciate the view. And the quiet. That didn’t stop him from running his eyes over Marsh’s body. The guy was built, he’d known that before, but now that they were alone, at summer camp, sharing a room even, Craig could appreciate it in an entirely new light.

Having a guy like Marsh bend over for him, beg him with those blue eyes for pleasure, relief, lust…

T he thought alone turned him on. Marsh needed to be played with, he was such a perfect target. Craig needed to put him on a leash and toy with him until he’d come crawling for more. Didn’t matter if he wasn’t considering himself gay, Craig would make him gay if necessary. 

The water was still cold and that was helping to keep his very interested body in check. It did, however, not keep him from following through with his plan so he walked over until he was standing right behind his target. Marsh was still unsuspecting, having his back turned towards Craig, front to the tiles on the wall, eyes closed.

With a brief glance around, Craig made sure the rest of their team and their stuff was gone from the showers, no excess towels or forgotten shampoo bottles, before he stepped closer and snaked one arm around his waist, the other under his arm, across his chest, his hand pressing against Stan’s mouth, hard. He held him there for a moment, just to let him feel that, yes, Craig could hold him down if he wanted to before he craned his neck to suck cold water off of Stan’s neck, nose buried in the short and dark hair at his nape.

 

Stan’s first instinct was to knock his head back until it cracked against Craig’s. When that didn’t dislodge the guy from him, Stan craned his neck until he could stare balefully at his teammate.

“Are you trying to rape me, or something? What the fuck are you doing, Tucker?”

Had Craig always been this...creepy? Forward? Hella gay? Ever since he sat down next to Stan on the bus, he’d been weird. Was this all part of a game to fuck with Stan’s head? Clearly, Craig was committed to his role, which somehow involved a lot of unwanted and very intimate touching that Stan was just dumbfounded to witness. Especially because it didn’t seem to bother Craig at all.

Something about being held in place was sending his heart into a frenzy, though, and Stan had to lean back against Craig in order to keep his balance.

 

Craig ignored the little struggle more or less, though it did turn him on, in a way, to have Stan fight back.

He was very patient and waited until Stan did what Craig had kind of hoped for (the other option being the guy really making a scene and picking a fight which he would’ve loved as well). Marsh leaned back into him, only a little bit, which Craig used to push him forward against the wall. Not that he did it harshly, it was a more or less gentle push and he held Stan to keep him from hurting, but he did hold him in place nevertheless.

When that was done, he leaned his head in to whisper to his confused target.

“Wouldn’t do that, Marsh. You wanna know what I'm thinking?” While he spoke, Craig had no issue with aligning his body with Stan’s, squeezing his chest against his teammate’s back and his crotch flush against the guy’s ass.

“You need to be handled. Girls are too soft for you, ‘s why you keep breaking up with her.”

Craig was just playing, really, he had no idea if he was right or not. If he was, Marsh wouldn’t be able to forget what he said, and if he wasn’t, Marsh would be pissed and tried to fight him. A win win scenario, either way.

 

There was a dick. Very closely pressed to him. And it wasn’t his own, or even Kyle’s, which would have been okay in its own way. No, that piece of excited flesh right there on his other cheeks was Craig Tucker’s fucking dick and he was pressing it into his fucking ass.

Stan didn’t know what was happening to him right now, or why heat was flushing through him like some strange, hormonal hurricane. His body was doing things on its own, he swore, because his ass was perking out and his head was tilted to the side, as if inviting Craig to come whisper into his ear some more.

“You’re fucked in the head, Tucker. It’s pretty obvious you’ve never been in fucking love if that’s your best bet at understanding Wendy and me.”

His voice was at extreme odds with his willing body, and Stan was trying to figure out what the fuck was happening to him.

 

Still, Craig held onto him, forcing him to stay still. Marsh growled at him, but his body was speaking an entirely different language, and that did nothing to stop his growing arousal.

Even though he had known it all along, it came to him in a rush of victory when Stan offered him his neck so willingly and pushed his ass against him like a freaking whore.

Marsh wanted this.  And by the feel of it, he also needed it, badly. Perfect star of the team, Stan Marsh, all growls and insults, wasn't even fighting him off anymore. Clearly, he struck gold when thinking that he had a real chance to play with Marsh like this.  Craig sunk his teeth into the readily offered skin, biting him right in the neck. Not hard, but enough to establish territory. He wasn’t marking him (yet), but Stan needed another reminder that with every move, he wound himself more into Craig’s hold.

“Like I care about understanding some bitch and your involvement with her.” Craig hummed against wet skin, “It just turns me on when you get angry.”

To underline it, Craig rocked his hips forward, pressing his half-hard cock between Stan’s ass cheeks.

 

Well, holy fuck, this was very much going in one direction that Stan had not anticipated. He should have, since the thing on the bus, but Craig had been his usual self during the exercises and the practice, so Stan had let it slip his mind. Big mistake.

Now he was stuck in a shower with a dick rubbing along his ass, and it made his spine tingle. It also forced blood into his own dick, but he was staunchly ignoring that rising problem. Craig bit him like an apple and it was both hilarious and gruesome, especially from his angle. As if the guy had been waiting for it.

Maybe he had? Tucker was notoriously shit at conveying any sense of emotion, and he liked it that way. Maybe he’d been watching Stan like a creeper for a long time, and now saw fit to strike. Now that Stan couldn’t just flip him off, punch him and drive home.

“Don’t call her a bitch, you fucking asshole.” he muttered half-heartedly, hoping that this wasn’t going much further. He might be kinda turned on by being held and overpowered, but he was pretty sure that the last thing he wanted to do was get fucked by Craig Tucker.

 

“I’m just calling things as they are.” Craig replied, calmly, while pressing Stan harder into the wall.

Perhaps this was enough for now. Just give him a taste, make him confused. Give him material to have wet dreams about and feel bad thinking of when jerking off.  

He backed off, but only one step, leaving room for Stan to react in however way he wanted. It was, seen from a game perspective, Stan’s turn and Craig couldn't wait to see what South Park's golden boy would do.

 

Stan wasn’t in the mood for games, however well constructed they might be around his desires, unspoken and unrealized. When Craig backed away, that little switch flipped back to reality and he understood what had just happened here. Craig was trying to make him his bitch, or something like that.

His elbow cocked back, hard into Craig’s stomach. There was nothing gentle or playful about it. Stan’s blue, blue eyes were blazing with anger when he turned to face the guy who thought he could just dry hump him whenever he wanted. Or at all. His hands were already tightening into fists. As soon at Craig straightened, Stan punched him in the face and reached out to grab him into a very non-intimate chokehold.

“You asked for this, asshole.”

 

Pain flooded him, bloomed in his stomach and in his head, and heat of a different kind rose in him, spread into every limb and, within seconds, had him fully addicted to the rush of a good fight ahead of him.

Sure, Marsh had gotten him good and his chokehold was pretty tight, but the guy had probably not anticipated Craig’s entire body weight being thrown into the fight recklessly, pulling Stan with him. As they fell, Stan loosened his grip in order to catch himself, and that was what Craig had been waiting for. Instead of pushing Stan away from him, he pulled him closer, effectively landing hard tiles. On him now, Craig socked him square in the face. 

The moment he allowed himself to savor the feeling cost Craig his upper hand. Marsh threw him around and they rolled over the floor, both of them gaining some bruises and scratches simply from the grate covering the drains of their battleground.  They ended up against a wall, Marsh on top of him. Craig didn’t let that one go and headbutted him, effectively forcing Stan to relinquish his hold.

Both of them struggled away from each other and back onto their feet. Marsh was bleeding from a scratch on his knees, he bled from his cute little nose, doubled over from the punch to his gut.

 

Craig tasted blood and the skin on his right cheekbone was tight where a fat bruise was blooming. There were cuts on him too, from the grate over the drains, but his eyes were blue fire.

He loved good fights, fights between equal opponents and Marsh was definitely worthy. Not only was he built like Craig, he was also a pretty decent fighter. He’d elect Marsh to be on his side any time in case he ever needed help in some fight. Which never really happened, but that was how much he respected the guy’s skills in holding his own. Giving up wasn’t on the menu. Craig would fight him until Marsh gave, or until he himself went down unconscious.

When Marsh seemed unfocused for the smallest of moments, Craig was on him and pushed him into the next wall, hard.

The contact between their naked bodies was both painful and exciting, though Craig definitely wasn’t rocking any sort of boner anymore, now that his system had gone into battle mode.

“... that didn’t make me wanna stop at all, Marsh.”

Craig kissed him, hard, more a clash of teeth and angry tongue than anything else, really.

 

Only Craig Tucker could get turned on by a bathroom brawl. Stan had to admit, there was something thrilling about punching someone and then kissing the living daylights out of them, but it didn’t suit him that he was the one being held down, or held against the wall, as was the case. 

This wasn’t really about being attracted to each other, at all, he surmised. Craig didn’t even like Stan, and to be honest, if Tucker went missing, Stan wouldn’t be crying his eyes out. This was some weird male alpha thing, the kind of bullshit Cartman heard on one of his Manswer TV shows and spread like wildfire to the stupid majority of the guys in their grade. Some bullshit excuse about power play and dominance. Kyle would flip out into a two-hour lecture on actual biological behavior and explain away the bullshit of socially constructed gender roles.

But the thing was, Stan was nowhere near as repulsed as he should be. Craig was pressing against him like a truck, pinning him against the wall, kissing him hard enough to make Stan’s lips ache. Clearly, the taste of blood that mingled between their tongues wasn’t putting him off at all.

Stan dislodged his face, but ended up smacking his head into the tile behind him. He groaned with pain, stars exploding behind his eyes.

“Fuck.”

It was the signal to end their fight. Stan was, silently, surrendering as he went still in Craig’s grasp. Not because he couldn’t hold his own any longer, but because they were idiots that gave each other black eyes and bleeding noses on a trip that had specifically arranged for them to ‘get along better’.

“Coach is gonna kill you.”

 

Craig stayed exactly where he was, he didn’t trust Stan to not fake it. He continued pressing him into the wall, but only for a moment longer where they stared at each other, a battle of will that lasted about seven, silent seconds.

Then, Craig pushed away from him and let him go. He went for his shower equipment and slung his towel over his shoulder, leaving as if nothing special had happened at all.

"You loved this as much as I did, Marsh. Get over it."


	4. Chapter 4

“So the both of you, Tucker, Marsh, and let me repeat this for how stupid that sounds… both of you  _ slipped and fell _ in the showers?”

Craig shrugged, leaving it to Stan to nod, which he did. _ Good boy. _

 

Mason glared at the sorry pair as the team gathered around them, feigning disinterest but eagerly listening to the dressing down of the troublemakers. Coach rarely took the time to address Stan and Craig’s attitude towards each other, but this time, he wouldn’t ignore the stupidity of their apparent feud. He opened his mouth to speak. Craig didn’t wait for the lecture.

“Showers are dangerously slippy places, coach.”

 

Mason rolled his eyes. 

“I know you’re lying, both of you. Nobody falls and looks like that, stop the bullshit.”

 

Craig looked him dead in the eye, then grabbed Marsh’s shoulder by his shirt, pulling him up. When he stood, Craig wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him tightly against himself.

“Your strategy is just too good, man. Look, we had three nights of sleepover and we’re best friends already. Now if you’ll excuse us, we got some best buddy shit to do.” He forced Marsh to turn and walk away with him, well aware of the eyes on them as he led his teammate around a corner. As soon as they were out of sight, Craig raised the bottle, not to his lips, but above Marsh’s head and poured the water right on top of him.

 

Stan never really got chewed out. He was the budding star of the team, and whether Craig liked it or not, he was the one with the potential scholarship looming in the future, not the asshole currently emptying his water over Stan’s head. It earned Craig a quick jab in the chest as Stan snarled an insult his way. Apparently, this ‘best friend’ strategy that their coach had employed was going to make the bad blood between them all the worse. At this rate, someone was getting their face caved in. And fuck it, Stan wasn’t gonna be the little bitch that ratted them out. If Craig wanted war, he would have it. The jab was followed by Stan grabbing two handfuls of Craig’s shirt and pulling him hard, until their mouths collided angrily and Stan could dig his teeth into Craig’s lower lip.

That had Craig make a deep noise in his throat, the perfect mixture between budding arousal and rising anger as he took on the challenge. His hand came up, an iron grip on the back of Stan’s neck. The other arm snapped their hips together and Craig ground into him as soon as they touched, forcing Marsh to gasp and let go off his lip. Craig was on him a second after, kissing him hard, his hand dropping down to cup Stan’s ass through the soft fabric of their training pants. He could have a little makeout session if he wanted to, but on Craig’s terms. If he was so hungry to belong to Craig, Craig would make him his, no problem.

His tongue dove into Marsh’s mouth as soon as he parted his lips, he made sure the guy was thoroughly tongue-fucked before he pulled away and wiped his mouth, smirking at him.

"You bite all your best buddies like that, or just me?”

 

“I don’t tongue my friends.” Stan wiped his mouth on his wet sleeve, annoyed that he was going to have to towel his hair yet again. Bad enough that he had to shower twice a day thanks to their training and potentially insane coach. 

“That what you guys do with each other?”

Stan thought about being diplomatic, but Craig was an ass. He didn’t deserve sympathy or the pulling of punches.

“You take turns fucking Tweek, too? You, Clyde, Jimmy n’ Token? Friendship bonding, that kinda shit?”

 

For a split second, Craig’s eyes darkened though his expression stayed perfectly neutral, as usual. Instead of punching Marsh for that shit out of his mouth and for pulling Tweek of all people into this, he chuckled.

“So it’s confirmed, your brain is stuck in fucking freshman year. Is fucking all you think about?”

Stan looked like a wet dog, his white shirt clinging in parts to him, skin shining through. Craig had the weird notion of toweling him off like he would a puppy that came in from the rain.

They’d made their way back to their apartment by now, Craig unlocked the door. He needed a nap or something and an aspirin for the throbbing headache the fight earlier had earned him. Marsh went to look for a towel in the bathroom, but room service had brought fresh ones and put them on their bed. Feeling generous, Craig grabbed a towel from Marsh’s bed and went to the bathroom where he pushed it on top of wet, dark hair and rubbed.

Hard and playfully at first, but when Marsh didn’t move, he did it more carefully.

 

Stan had expected a fight out of Craig, but he got nothing. And by the way, that comment was pretty rich from the guy who seemed to take every chance he could to grind against Stan in some way.

Whatever.

Going back to their room kind of defused the situation entirely. Stan allowed the heat of anger and uncomfortable arousal drain away. He was already in thoughts about how he could tell Kyle without sounding like a complete gaywad. He desperately needed Kyle’s input on all of this and once again, he wished his friend was as good at football as he was at basketball. But Kyle, long and tall and lovely, wasn’t the kind of guy who enjoyed bone-crushing body contact in his sports and so, he left Stan in this terrible predicament. And then Craig was there again, draping Stan’s head in dry warmth instead of icy water. His fingers felt kind of good when they got gentle on Stan’s scalp, and he didn’t do anything to dislodge his weirdass roomie.

Only when his hair was mostly dry did Stan peer up out of the towel, confusion knitting his brow. His blue eyes were wide and pupils dilated from the low light from the other room. Stan hadn’t bothered to flick on the bathroom lights.

“...Craig?”

 

Marsh’s voice was quiet and questioning, not threatening, but confused and weary. His face, framed by messy black strands and the white towel looked particularly pretty right now. There was no fight in him, he was basically a big, adorable question mark. Now, originally, Craig had wanted to push him or slap him with the towel, anything to make him angry again, to keep him on edge, because that was what would break the bronco in the end. But Stan’s expression did something to him, made something in his chest unfurl, something nice and warm he hadn’t felt since half a year ago.

The urge to kiss him rose up in him wildly and this time, Craig really could not explain it away with wanting to dominate him, not when Marsh looked like that and made him feel this way. He turned on his heel and left him standing there, angry with himself mostly.

A smoke outside and the ocean breeze would calm him down for sure.

 

Tucker was being himself again, which was a relief after the odd moment of kindness. Stan hung the towel up (which meant throwing it over the shower. Housekeeping would probably get it anyway) and stared at his bruises in the mirror for a couple of minutes. Then he sent Kyle a few pictures, claiming that Craig had started a bullshit fight over being outshone during practice. Kyle’s instant, sympathetic rage was a soothing, familiar thing that had Stan’s stomach warm.  But he also couldn’t stop glancing at the balcony door. 

His phone slipped into his pocket and Stan wandered outside. They actually had a pretty cool view of the ocean, and you could taste the salty sea-air if you just breathed in deeply.

The nice air was polluted with the smell of Craig’s cigarette. Stan wasn’t exactly a sucker for the ‘bad boy’ look, but Tucker pulled the casual nonchalance off effortlessly, the cigarette dangling between his lips until Stan reached for it, plucking it from busted lips.

“You writing ballads out here?”

 

When Marsh went for the cigarette, Craig shot him a brief warning glance, but he didn’t follow up with anything. Instead, he watched the other guy drag on it and exhale blue smoke after. He’d half expected him to cough, but nothing like that happened which was surprising in his own right.

“Look at that. Best boy Stanley Marsh smokes in secret. Bet you Mason would be  _ disappointed _ .”

Craig leaned back in the bleached-out deck chair, surrendering the smoke to Marsh. Maybe it was an offering of peace, maybe he was just more mellow after seeing the damn puppy face like that, but for once it felt actually good to not be about to fight him. They had done that deed for the day and now it was time to chill.

He leaned over and pulled the other deck chair closer so Stan could sit on it.

“Don’t just suck it all in. You gotta enjoy it.”

 

Stan accepted the invitation and let himself fall into the chair. Maybe Craig wasn’t so bad...No, wait, he was gonna assess that statement and revise it. Right after he stopped to think about the day as a whole. Bitching to Kyle in text form had taken the edge off of the rage. He didn’t smoke, regularly, contrary to Craig’s smug little observation.

“You really think I can be best friends with Kenny McCormick and not learn how to smoke?”

Only difference was that Kenny didn’t just smoke boring old tobacco, but everyone knew that. Stan looked out over the balcony again.

“Kinda wish we were here just on like, vacation. It probably kicks ass when you’re not too tired for beach parties.”

 

Craig shrugged.

“Think coach just wants to prove a thing or two. We’re gonna be cut some slack come week two, for sure.”

He let his eyes wander over the beach in front of them. The sun had gone down and night was falling, the first mosquitoes drawn out. Craig swatted at one, only to lean back after and turn his head to look at Marsh.

Seeing him didn’t make him want to mess with him at the moment. Right now, Craig just felt satisfied even though he hadn’t even gotten off since this morning. It wasn’t really sexual though, so he loosely guessed it was some other form of satisfaction.

“Being the coach’s pet that you are, why don’t you speed up the process and say a thing or two about how we need more time for ourselves? Boys gotta be boys and stuff like that? Bet he likes that.”

 

“Yeah, right. That’s the kinda bullshit that’s gonna have us up at the crack of dawn to do extreme hardcore yoga or something like it. I wouldn’t put it past coach at all.” Stan stubbed out the cigarette, flicking it over the low wall and that separated their balcony/terrace from the path lining the beach.

"Face it, Tucker, we’ll be on drills all day and too tired to party at night. Coach will have our asses until you losers are as good as me. You know, catch you up. I might get the day off, but you sure won’t.”

Stan smirked, the hint of a challenge glinting in his eyes.

 

He received a snort for an answer as Craig crossed his arms behind his head.

“Coach would never just give you a day off. That destroys team morale, I’m sure Jimmy would’ve something to say about that and he’d be fucking right. Just because you’re good at your job doesn’t mean you’re above the team. That kinda bullshit.”

Craig couldn’t help the little smile playing around his lips. Bickering with Marsh was pleasant. His cheek was still throbbing and when he moved his head reminded him of its ache. Groaning, he got up and went inside, only to return with another bottle of cooled water and two aspirin. One of them he took while walking, pouring water after and swallowing all of it before he dropped the other one as well as the bottle into Stan’s lap. He didn’t sit down again, but instead slipped out of his flip flops and went over to where the beach began right where their terrace stopped. Craig dug his toes into the sand, for the first time ever.

 

It was still far too warm. Stan had trouble sleeping from the second that California sun rose up, and he couldn’t fall asleep in the evenings if he wasn’t thoroughly exhausted by the training routines. He watched Craig toe around in the sand and wondered how many times the Tuckers went on beachfront vacations. From the look on Craig’s face, not often. There was a sense of quiet delight behind his usually deadened eyes, and Stan was staring. When Craig walked out onto the beach, Stan followed him silently.

They walked until the ocean waves filled the air around them. The water was black as night, of course, with distant lights dancing on the horizon and lining the shore a little further up the beach. But Stan didn’t want to go there, just yet. It was kind of serene here, even if it was Craig at his side.

“You ever swim in an ocean?” he asked quietly.

 

On his way out onto the beach, Craig had been unfocused, everything and nothing really on his mind as he let his feet play with the unfamiliar sensation of sand under and above them, depending on how deep he dug them in. Tweek would probably freak out if he ever got him to a beach, what if there were glass shards or dangerous animals in the sand, or sinkholes, or all the myriad of things the guy’s head came up with when faced with unknown situations.

It was actually nice though and Tweek didn’t matter because they weren’t together anymore, right? Right. Craig directed his drifting thoughts to the present. Further away from the buildings, it felt like the air was a little bit cooler though that might just be due to the sea breeze. He hadn’t actually noticed that Marsh had followed him, only when he spoke up, Craig turned to look over his shoulder. Marsh looked the same kind of relaxed like he had earlier, he was still carrying the water bottle Craig had dropped on him earlier. It was odd to notice that detail, but apparently he had taken the aspirin and didn’t wanna just disregard the gesture. Or he was just thirsty, that was probably it.

The question had Craig wonder, but he felt particularly mellow so he just answered.

“No. You?”

 

“Couple of times. But you know, it’s kinda lame with the family.” Those very few, precious vacations were vivid memories, though, because they frequently involved the Broflovskis and vacations with Kyle were the happiest part of Stan’s life. Then, it didn’t matter what crazy schemes his parents got into, or what stupid situation arose. Kyle was the worst company on a beach, by the way, constantly complaining, terrible about letting loose and very aware of his body’s shortcomings. But he was the best person in the universe, so that made up for the way he’d sulk in the shade as Stan raced Ike in the water.

“And never at night. Sharks and all that.” Stan shrugged, bending down to deposit the bottle of water next to his shoes, which he stepped out of decisively as he pulled his shirt over his head. So much for staying dry, but fuck it, they were at the beach. He didn’t really care about getting naked in front of Craig. They did shower together all the time (and only today had it gotten weird).

“Come on. Unless you’re a pussy?”

 

Craig definitely wasn’t a pussy, he was just surprised by Marsh’s sudden initiative. It had him watch Stan with curiosity as he started to undress and had him look still when he was already naked. Only when Marsh grinned at him like that, Craig finally pulled his shirt over his head and yanked down his shorts.  Equally naked, he followed.

The water was still warm, playing around his feet and Craig savored the feeling as his feet sunk into the wet sand. With a few decisive steps he left their clothes behind and went after Marsh, into the dark water. For a while they just swam around until Marsh found it funny to grab his foot which startled Craig and almost had him punch the supposed shark in the face. Turned out to be amused Stan, grinning at him like a cheshire cat for getting the better of him, this once.

Craig looked at him in the half-dark. Marsh really was pretty, his face all attractive angles and warm eyes and then he had this button-nose that the girls didn’t seem to dig enough to vote him higher than #3, but that had Craig’s interest in the guy peak. He left the little prank without comment, instead he reached out to cup the back of Marsh’s head. For a moment, he allowed him confusion and waited until exactly the moment where Stan realized what was about to happen before Craig brought their lips together in a kiss way softer than everything they’d done before.

 

This was different than before. Stan didn’t think he was some kind of genius at reading people, but this was a way more mellow kiss and moment. There was no wrestling here, no possessive grabbing or suggestive grinding. This was just the two of them, surrounded by nothing but the ocean and the night, kissing each other. Stan wasn’t exactly sure why, but he was on board. Craig wasn’t exactly warm, but he was a solid presence next to him in the water. It was easy to drift together and wrap his arms over Craig’s shoulders, holding onto him instead of paddling in the shallow water. It was...nice. And that was just about the last notion he’d ever attach to Craig Tucker, but here he was, skinny dipping with a guy he hated and kissing the same face he’d punched earlier. Maybe...maybe there was just something special about ‘summer camp’. People had weird little phases, right? And no, it wasn’t the fact that Craig was very male. It was just that it was this guy he thought he hated, rather than the guy he knew he was in love with very obviously and painfully.

Huh. Did Craig taste nice because Stan had smoked too, or was it just his body, trying to pretend that this was all cool and he definitely wasn’t feeling an unexpected surge of warmth whilst being pressed against Tucker?

Stan didn’t know. And right now, he couldn’t be bothered to care, either.

 

The arms snuck around his shoulders were warmer than the water around them and so was the body meeting his own. Craig let his eyes fall shut as he indulged in the kiss, making it soft where he had been hard before and careful where he’d been aggressive earlier. His tongue coaxed Stan’s lips apart in the most gentle of ways and Craig licked his way into his mouth. Warmth spread in his body and it wasn’t the violent heat that came with the heady urge for exerting dominance, no, this was different, familiar in a way that Craig did not want to think about, not right now when Marsh was here, holding onto him.

Craig’s other arm came up around Marsh’s waist and he held them together more tightly. They were having a moment here, a summer camp moment that Craig was pretty sure would never have happened back in South Park.  
He welcomed it though, this change of plans because Stan tasted good and smelled nice and his body was just the right amount of trained mass in his arm. He broke the kiss, slowly, when they’d kissed long enough for Marsh to not taste like salt water anymore, but like himself.

 

It was terribly romantic and Stan knew it. The situation was not lost on him, and no amount of denial was going to rid him of the warm feeling in his stomach when he pressed himself to Craig. Maybe it was...just that. They were being romantic without the slightest inclination for each other, and apart from the ashy taste in his mouth, nothing really screamed that Stan was now into Craig fucking Tucker. No, it wasn’t like that. As long as they didn’t actively say anything about it, they could do whatever they wanted to. And if Stan got a chance to indulge all the gay cravings he’d been having lately, well good for him. Craig wouldn’t give a shit about it, he already had a firm reputation and that stupidly hot face of his to be secure in himself. Something that Stan was absolutely not.

Who knew? Maybe you had to be gay for a while to obtain it. So here he was, waist-deep in water, glued to Craig Tucker’s body, his dick half-hard and trapped between them. Stan could not possibly have imagined things going this way. Ever.

 

Craig’s thoughts were less focused on the fact with whom he was making out, but more on the general circumstance that this person in his arms was definitely male. Specifically male, one could say, because Stan wasn’t soft anywhere. He was broad and trained, played football like a champion, sucked at most classes, average in others, girls loved him. He was like Craig, essentially. Craig, but nice. Craig, but so unlike Craig that he was a polar opposite. That kind of made him attractive, and not in a way Craig had ever really considered before.

When he'd broken up with Tweek, it was because of the certainty that he wasn't gay. That he just didn't like boys that much. All of it felt like bullshit, right now, because Marsh’s lips were just the right kind of messed up and his body was firm and strong against Craig’s which felt exactly like he wanted it. It wasn't like it was with Tweek. Tweek had been familiar, comfortable, but ultimately, like the sort of best friend Clyde never strove to be, physically close, supportive, affectionate. Craig had stayed with him because it was easy, easier for both of them. Once broken up, however, Craig had been convinced that no part of him had really been with Tweek to be with a guy.

Yet here he was, making out with Stan Marsh, turned on by the way they fit against each other. He could feel Marsh’s half-boner against his thigh and it didn’t gross him out, much the opposite. He really wanted to go for it and jerk Stan off, feeling his damned dick hard and heavy in his hand.

Craig broke the kiss and stared at Marsh, his usually so expressionless eyes stormy with confusion. _That_ thought had come out of nowhere, and it didn't belong in his head. 

He wasn't like that.

Right?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by the way, this is actually an rp, that's why the pov hops back and forth so much. I hope it's not annoying v.v

Stan had been down to do whatever they wanted to. His dick twitched at the notion of continuing down this path of exploration, but Craig’s expression froze him in his tracks. It was terribly open and it didn’t belong on Craig Tucker’s handsome features. His usually deadened gaze was softly broken. Stan had never considered Craig to be a vulnerable guy, but right now, he looked lost. He couldn’t help but lean in closer, leaning his forehead against Craig’s as he pulled him closer, his grip tightening. The water was starting to feel cold rather than pleasant around them.

“Hey. You okay?”

They shouldn’t talk about whatever this was. They couldn’t, not without breaching the whole ‘let’s just go with it’ vibe that they’d cultivated shortly around the time that whole bathroom thing happened.

Craig’s expression changed, his gaze lots its vulnerability. He leaned his forehead into Stan’s while his hands dropped to his teammate’s sides. Slowly, he tilted his head to the side, keeping eye contact with Stan all the way until their lips touched again, gently this time. The kiss was of a rather short nature when Craig drew back only to lean past his face and whisper to his ear.

“Let’s go back inside. I’ll show you something nice.”

His voice was darker than usual, but sweet, sweet honey drizzling into Stan’s ear. Craig brought his lips down right under Stan’s ear, sucking the skin lightly into his mouth before he drew back entirely, turned around and waded out of the water. Gentle splashes behind him told him Marsh was on his way, too. They couldn’t go back naked (chances were high they would at least see some of their teammates), so Craig stepped into his shorts and gathered the rest of his stuff. He led Marsh to their apartment, let him enter first and closed the terrace door behind him.

“Get to the bathroom.”

To his surprise and general excitement, Marsh did what he said, without questioning it. Craig got rid off his pants again and left his other clothing laying around on a chair somewhere before he joined Stan in the bathroom. When Craig brought his hands up to Stan’s shoulders, he even seemed to freeze up a little. Unfazed, Craig ran his hands down the guy’s chest, straight down, until he reached the waistband of his loose pants and tugged them down swiftly. It was a nice view, one that he fully indulged in taking in. Craig didn’t even look up when he spoke, his voice in an even, commanding tone.

“Get into the shower.”

 

 

It was happening fast and Stan wasn’t questioning it. He probably should, but he’d leave that task to future Stan, who had a hell of a lot of thinking to do, mostly about Craig. He was fine with the fact he was bi, but not with Craig Tucker...right? Well. Craig wasn’t actually so bad. No, wait, he was. He was an awful human being. But fuck, he could kiss the shit out of Stan and make him forget who or where he was. And that kind of thing was addictive. Very, very addictive. Stan found himself curious as to how far they could push this. How far would Craig go with him, someone he allegedly hated?

Stan never did have a lot of self-control. He was naked, in a shower, again, with Tucker. Maybe they wouldn’t beat the shit out of each other here.

“Fuck, be careful.” He complained as Craig ran his fingers over a tender bruise on his hip.

 

Craig didn’t touch him all too shyly, but his hands had a certain gentleness to them as they cupped Stan’s shoulders and then smoothed down his back. When they arrived at his sides, Craig’s arms came around him and he pulled Stan back, flush against him. He leaned his head over Stan’s right shoulder, lips just about level with the start of his jawline, chin on his shoulder. The water raining down on them had a nice temperature, warmer than the ocean, warmer than their bodies but not hot enough to make you want to flee the shower after five minutes. Craig’s voice was low, but audible next to Stan’s ear.

"Trust me.”

The words were not a question. Although softly spoken, it was a requirement, an order even for Stan to give himself up to this. One of Craig's hands ran up, fingers spreading on his chest, the other continued its way down, smoothing over Stan’s abdomen. Craig’s touches were directed in a distinct direction, but he was also waiting for the guy in his arms to relax, to give up control. His fingers traced along the line where thigh met hip, never going far enough to actually touch privates.

 

Stan didn’t get much of the usual asshat vibe from Craig in this particular moment. Huh. Maybe he could be nice, if you spent enough time kissing him into being human. Apparently, Stan had reached the threshold and crossed it safely, but he couldn’t quite trust this temporary peace.  He remained stiff with Craig pressed against him. Confidence aside, this was still the most gay thing he’d ever embarked on, and exploration was not quite so natural as he would have thought. Maybe because it was Craig.

Stan tried to think of this same situation with Kyle, and immediately, his stomach curled with warm happiness. Yeah. With Kyle, this would be easy. He’d trust him without hesitation to take good care of Stan.

But hadn’t Craig kind of done that too? Not in the shower earlier (why was he spending his entire day wet?) but then, that had been different. That had been anger and pissing Stan off and getting a rise out of him. This was more like the kiss in the ocean. Weirdly soft, and definitely intimate. God, he had to stop thinking so much. Craig was being nice, for now, and if he was jerking Stan along (instead of, per say, jerking him off) he was going to get a nice fistful in the face and another bump on his head.

Stan relaxed, oddly feeling much hotter than the water when the length of Craig’s torso pressed to his back.

 

Even if he just leaned back a little more and exhaled quietly, his body slumping just the tiniest bit, Craig noticed instantly.  Marsh did have to be given credit for that because, well, Craig wouldn’t be trusting someone he’d had a fight with earlier. Not like this.  But here he was, his shapely body readily at Craig’s disposal and the mere thought of it brought back heat into his body that wasn’t due to the warm water.  Maybe he didn’t have to defeat Marsh with fists and by degrading him (though the thought of fighting him did kick his arousal up a notch), though that thought was new and he would have to consider it for longer later.

Right now, what counted was that Stan did as he was told and Craig was pleased enough with the result that he decided the guy was in for a reward. His wandering hand, currently placed on a sightly stomach region, traveled down and it didn’t even hesitate once in finally reaching for the main prize.  
Craig’s expert hand closed around Stan’s dick, fingers curling, adjusting to his girth before he gave it a first, lazy pump.

 

All of Stan jerked to follow the motion, his arm reaching out to steady himself on the wall. Fuck, Tucker was really going for it. Somehow, Stan had expected to be tricked, or humiliated for getting hard around the jerk anyway. But if he looked down, which he did, he saw a hand firmly on his dick, treating it much like Stan himself would have done, had he showered alone. It wasn’t his first handjob, but it was the first one from a guy. Craig’s hand was a lot bigger than Wendy’s, he noticed, which didn’t make a huge difference (mostly because it was just very much the same motion and feeling), but the little details somehow mattered.

Stan breathed out, which kind of became a bit of a hiss, and he looked up again. He could see his reflection in the shiny chrome of the shower head, and Craig behind him, still propping his head on Stan’s shoulder.

“You done this before?”

It was a legitimate question. Just how far had Craig gone in his pretend relationship with Tweek? Somehow, that information was extremely relevant right now.

 

“Plenty.”

Craig didn’t want to think about it, not now. Tweek and the things they’d explored together were memories he rarely allowed himself to indulge in. Those times were gone and thinking about them brought up too many questions in the aftermath for it to be worth the brief relief. Then again, he was right here, his hand around Marsh’s quickly swelling dick, jerking him with fluid, practiced motions. This was more than just thinking about gay stuff, this was doing gay stuff, yet again, and while he felt bad for the renewed lie to Tweek, holding a guy’s cock like this, his hand firmly covering soft skin, did turn Craig on. Even more so the fact that this was Stan Marsh’s dick, but that was on a whole different page of the book.

He pushed the thoughts away and really rested his head on Stan’s shoulder now, his left hand splayed on his chest, arm wrapped around him, holding him secure and pressed up tightly against Craig’s own body. Of course he was growing hard, too, his dick flush against Stan’s ass, something that got him into the situation even more. Craig ran his hand down over Stan's shaft, only to give his balls a brief, but gentle massage before resuming the lazy jerking from before. 

The fact that he himself was rocking a full-on erection by now was definitely not lost on Stan, that was for sure, but Craig did not plan on doing anything with it. He sure wasn’t shy about stuff and he had promised Stan a good time, so he’d have one, without Craig taking advantage of his position, for once.

 

It was surprisingly easy to forget that this was weird. Actually, Stan was beginning to take full advantage of the fact that it didn’t feel bad at all. Craig had a good rhythm and a grip that was just right on him. Stan didn’t have to pump his hips, the friction was there and doing all the work for him.  Craig was also very hard against the back of him, and that was distracting. The dick poking at him was...well. It shouldn’t make his knees weak. Stan knew he liked guys (very firmly now, thanks Tucker) but that was a new thing to live out. He pushed his ass out just a little, just to see. If they were here, jerking off in the shower together, then he could try other stuff out too.

Craig’s dick rubbed along his cheeks a little more, slipping between them slightly. Stan could absolutely not deny the heated spike of want that shot through him and a moan escaped his lips. His cheeks flushed hard in mortification.

 

The first time Marsh moved his ass back into him, Craig hadn’t thought much of it. He seemed to be quite eager to wind his body against him anyway.  It was nice, too, he could enjoy it whilst he was at it, perhaps use it as a quick fantasy to get himself some relief later, too.  But then Marsh ground against him, there was no other way of describing what he was doing. Craig’s dick was between his cheeks and Stan  _ moaned _ .

First he thought he was imagining things, because while he understood that Stan was definitely into guys in some way, here was the quarterback of the South Park Cows, making that kind of wanton noise because Craig’s dick had accidentally slipped and was now rubbing against his crack. Said dick twitched with interest at the thought. It wasn’t like Craig hadn’t thought about (during training, school, especially during the last three days) how it’d be to throw Marsh down and fuck him. That would be great, for sure, but this? Marsh getting off on hard dick near his ass? He’d have to test this and then try this, the situation was just too good. Craig let go off him and raised his hands to Stan’s shoulder only to smooth them down his arms and grab his hands. When he did, he intertwined their fingers and pulled Stan’s hands up and against the cold tiles.

Craig leaned in to kiss water droplets off of his neck, whilst pushing his hips up and forward. Water was far inferior to lubricant of any sort, but it was better than nothing. Feeling Marsh’s firm ass pressed against his dick was amazing and totally worth the fact they were basically dry-exercising here.

 

The sudden change of pace had its effect on Stan, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever recover from this one.  The cool tiles pressed into his front and he was just at Craig’s mercy. Well, not literally, he could definitely fight his way to freedom, if it weren’t for the magma slugging through his veins. His skin burned everywhere that Craig was touching and yeah, his balls kind of felt ready to explode at this rate. He bit down hard on his lower lip in order to silence any further, traitorous moans, but it was a challenge he may fail. Especially when Craig started to nuzzle and kiss his neck, making this a thing far beyond what the lazy, pleasant handjob had been. Nothing was touching his dick anymore, but Stan didn’t feel any less hot. Actually, this may be worse. All of his thoughts zeroed in on the heavy drag of Craig’s dick over his skin. A heady rush begin to chase off any rational thought his mind could supply. And his hips were still moving, wanting more. Of what, Stan was terrified to speculate.

This situation definitely had not been planned by either of them. Craig had thought to give Stan a sweet handjob, the best one he’d ever had, so he’d never forget about it. This though was far more intriguing than the prospect of Marsh in 20 years having his midlife crisis over a handjob from a guy at summer camp. This was something else entirely. Craig jerked his body forward and pushed Stan closer against the wall, his dick now snug in between the guy’s thighs, sliding in and out with every pump of Craig’s hips.

It was downright beautiful, the way Marsh submitted so readily, the way he moved his hips against him as if he’d rather have his dick deep inside him than just between his legs. He was trying hard to keep quiet, Craig could see that, but he didn’t say anything about it just yet. If Marsh ever got over this and they got around to doing it again, he would make the guy scream with pleasure, that was for sure. While Stan was busy trying to not make any noise, Craig didn’t care much about it. He wasn’t loud per say, but he did occasionally hum and inhale sharply.

When the heat coiling in him started becoming too much and the sensation of tightness in his balls warned him of his upcoming orgasm, Craig brought his lips closer to Marsh’s ear again.

“I want you to come, Stan.”

 

 _Jesus fucking Christ_. Stan didn’t have any more brain cells to send on the quest of finding out what the hell was happening to him, because Craig’s voice in his ear pushed him right over the edge he’d been dangling over.  So yeah, he came without anything on his dick but hot water and cold tile, a hard dick pressed behind his balls and between his thighs. It was...something. Something he couldn’t identify as he leaned against the wall, letting his head slump forward until he felt the tile on his forehead.

“Shit...” he muttered. Whatever had just happened, it had to be buried. Holy fuck. This was definitely the worst thing Craig had ever done, simply because it felt far too good to ever be forgotten.

 

It had been an experiment, all of it, but especially commanding him to come. Craig really had not expected it to happen, but he didn’t let that show at all. Instead, he treated it casually, bit his neck, hands stroking Stan’s back and his sides to calm him. He hadn’t gotten off yet himself, but he’d been very close. Too inviting had been the fact that Marsh apparently wanted to get fucked really bad, too tempting the closeness of their bodies. Craig knew what being inside someone’s ass felt like and sliding his dick between warm thighs was nice, but just didn’t cut it in comparison.

Of course, Marsh was probably gonna experience his crisis now, which was why Craig stepped back to leave him a way out of the shower. Maybe he could jerk it in peace then and think about his teammate’s terribly juicy ass while he was at it. They’d gone there already, there was no shame in going further, right? Even if it was just a fantasy. Marsh tried to avoid eye contact, except for that one confused little glance he sent him that had Craig’s dick twitch again. It just called for a reaction, anything, really.

“Good boy.”

 

“...Fuck you.” it was weak out of Stan’s mouth and he rubbed his hands over his face before climbing out of the shower. At least he wasn’t sticky with sweat and semen, that probably would have sent him sinking through the floor, straight into whatever shameful corner of hell he belonged in for getting horny for Craig fucking Tucker’s dick.

By the time Craig came out of the shower, Stan was wrapped in every piece of blanket on the bed he’d picked, a complete burrito despite the warmth of the California night. The glow from inside said burrito came from Stan’s phone. He was furiously typing messages he’d never send. Seconds after Craig padded into the room, though, the light turned off and Stan pointedly began to snore. He didn’t want to talk about this. Ever. 


	6. Chapter 6

Stan maintained that attitude until the morning. Right after breakfast (in the restaurant adjacent to the lobby, with everyone), he skulked off to the beach. 

It felt like slinking into confession when he hit the call button next to a stunning picture of Kyle doing a blow fish impression. Stan’s stomach had been in a lurch right until the moment his best friend accepted the face time request. A smile spread across his face at the sight of red curls and freckles.

"Hey dude.”

 

The picture moved erratically, there were glimpses of Kyle’s hair, the ceiling of his room, parts of his bed sheets and then, finally, Kyle’s face itself came into view. He shook his head to get the annoying curls out of his face before he grinned at the picture of his best friend on the screen.

“Sorry, just had to get comfy. Hey. You at the beach? Wow.” It was good to see Stan, even though he looked incredibly tired. Kyle didn’t wanna start with some motherly concern, so he focused on the beach Stan showed him in a brief roundabout with his phone.

"Sweet, man. I hate the beach, but you’ve always loved sand in your pants, I guess.” Kyle grinned again, then his expression turned a bit more soft,  “Good to see you. You’re still alive, too. Coach still out of control? Tucker still an ass?”

 

“You have no idea,” Stan wanted to sound casual and unaffected, but Kyle was a radiant vision and it almost hurt to see him and know they were still three weeks apart. He missed him, fiercely, and the ache was enough to let him forget just how much of an ass Craig was.

“Coach is giving us the weekend off, and there’s some kind of crazy beach party that Token keeps talking about, I guess I gotta go to that, see what shakes loose, you know?” Stan hunched closer to his phone, a rueful smile on his lips. “I miss you. Like crazy, dude. How’s Chicago?”

 

Kyle smiled at him at that, then rolled his eyes. 

“Dunno, dude. It’s better than being at home without you ‘cause that fucking sucks. My cousin’s a menace though and my mom keeps trying to get me to see this girl...”

More eye rolling, then there was a noise in the background.  “Hold on, dude.” Kyle turned away from the phone, there was some rustling and voices. The phone was tipped and Ike’s face appeared in the camera.

“Hi Stan. Good thing you called, Kyle’s being a whiny bitch because he misses you.”

“Ike! Get the fuck out!” Kyle yelled and yanked at the phone, more glimpses at the room while Ike commented on how this was his room, too, by the way and then the door finally closed.

“Sorry.” Kyle huffed, “Locked the door now. Anyway, sounds chill, at least for the weekend. Hey you wanna know something really crazy?” He leaned closer to the phone and whispered into the speaker, leaving the camera to film the area between his eyebrows for the moment. “My cousin’s got a girlfriend. And hold on before you jerk it to that really hot thought, here’s the best thing: I’m pretty sure they slather each other in sunlotion instead of, you know, normal people sex.”

 

“Gross, man, I’m gonna be sick!” Stan laughed, not at all nauseated despite the horror of Kyle’s tale. He didn’t really believe it though. Kyle’s cousin, not-his-Kyle, was very much the epitome of someone bound to die alone. He wasn’t being a total dick, but Stan had never met someone as aptly described as a human disaster, and he doubted he would. But hey. Good for not-his-Kyle. Maybe there was some luck left in the world.

“Pics. I don’t believe you, otherwise. You sure they’re not just kinky and need to full-body lube each other?” He knew Kyle was gonna be grossed out, and he was already laughing before his best friend even reacted.

 

Kyle made a throwing-up-noise and shook the phone. 

“Sick, dude! Ew, what the fuck?” He had to laugh though and grinned at the camera. “I’ll send you pics, don’t worry. Just remember that you asked for them, don’t complain later on when you can’t get it up ever again.”

It was so good to see Stan, Kyle knew he had been missing him, but the longer he saw him on the screen, the more he was actually missed right here, next to him, in person. He couldn’t tell him that, but even though Ike could be a dick, his little brother had at least translated what he couldn’t speak right now, at least not in the intensity he felt it in. Maybe now the time had come for him to ask.

“You alright? You look pretty tired.”

 

“Ah...yeah, well, didn’t get much sleep last night.” Stan sobered up. He was aware that he was clutching the phone as if it was the most precious possession he owned. To be fair, on this trip to not-camp, it kind of was. His only lifeline to Kyle. " Went skinny dipping last night. In the ocean, dude.”  _ Where I made out vigorously with Craig fucking Tucker _ .

“Oh. And I got in a fight with Tucker. Punched him right in the face.”

 

“Here’s to hoping skinny dipping happened before or after the fight with Tucker. Sounds like you already scored a summer camp girlfriend? Skinny dipping alone sounds like something no one does, dude.”

Kyle made sure he kept his voice level, just slightly teasing. Stan didn’t take it well when Kyle openly questioned his best friend’s promiscuous lifestyle when it came to girls. “Did you make Tucker’s face bleed? I swear the worst thing you could do to that guy is punch his braces right back on.”

 

“That wouldn’t even ruin his score. He’d still top the list.” Stan tried hard not to remember the confused, open expression that bloomed on Craig’s face after their unintentionally romantic dip in the ocean. In that moment...yeah, okay, he had to concede. Craig Tucker was horribly attractive. His face had all the right angles, his hair was effortlessly sexy and ever since the braces came off, his foul mouth was perfect.

_Fuck._

Stan swallowed heavily as the vibrant memory of heat, racing up and down his spine, lancing his guts, came back with force.

"And how do you know? Maybe I’m just weird and like being in the ocean alone, Kyle. I would have thrown you in if you were here.”

 

“Oh, dude, no way you’d catch me. Besides, even if I was there, I wouldn’t be at the beach, beach sucks.”  Kyle’s grin was cheeky, he knew Stan loved the beach, but he also knew the guy was slower than him when it came to running.

It felt good to share things between them that only they knew best of each other. " What happened to the bruise on your side? Is it better? Or does Tucker have to die after all? Dude, I swear if he slaps you with a wet towel again so you can’t sit and game with me, the guy needs to  _ go _ .”

 

“Don’t worry about. I’ll kick his ass if he annoys me again.” Stan had to get this conversation away from the topic of Craig. It was better if he didn’t tell Kyle, he decided. Kyle would be weirded out and if he hung up, Stan was going to be destroyed, completely, for the next three weeks. It was better that Kyle just considered Stan a player and rolled his eyes about it.

“Hey Kyle? Summertime flings...they don’t mean anything, right?”

Maybe he could word his troubles differently and still get his sagely advice from the smartest guy he knew.

 

Kyle frowned at the camera and tilted his head to the side, briefly giving the question thought. It was clear that Stan had something going on that busied him emotionally and his best friend knew better than to ask about it.

A good choice here was just to go with it and answer the question.

“Well, generally they don’t. Except if you make it so. Like, I’ve never had one, but I think if you have a summer camp honey then you know time’s up at some point. That’s why everyone thinks it doesn’t mean anything. But if you’re not just crushing on the person, but also, you know, love and everything… As long as that doesn’t happen, you’re good. That answer the question?” He wanted Stan to feel good, he needed to turn that frown upside down on his best friend’s face before they hung up, simply because he wasn’t there to go and sit with him and talk him out of his supposed misery.

“I think you’re fine, dude. You’ve never really been in love with anyone but Wendy… You can deal with some Cali chick.”

 

“Yeah...yeah, you’re right. You always are.” _That’s why I love you._ He didn’t add that anywhere but in his mind. Kyle was his calm at the center of the storm. The eye of it, if you will. He kept Stan tethered to the ground, when he was ready to fly away.  “So...you gonna seduce your cousin’s hot girlfriend, or what?”

 

Kyle gave him the stink-eye through the camera. “Dude, no way I’m touching that with a ten foot pole. He’s got his lotion all over her, sick.” Not that the reaction was weird, but Kyle had never once actually shown interest in anyone Stan had suggested so far. By now, he knew it was a joke but they’d had an almost-fight half a year ago where Kyle had told Stan to cut it off and stop trying to get him with anybody. He just wasn’t interested.

Something made a noise in the background and Kyle turned again. Some female voice said something, by the tone of it it was either Sheila or her sister.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be right there. Sorry, dude, gotta go. I’ll text you and we facetime soon again, okay? Remember to use condoms, Stan, have fun.”

 

“Dude. I’m bringing you home some STDs, just for that. Love you dude.”

Stan ended the call before he could think better of his comment. Fucking hell. He really needed to get a grip on his ridiculous, pounding heart.

 

“Stan!“

  
The voice calling from the direction of the hotel lobby was Jake’s, the guy was waving, but didn’t seem to be interested in coming any closer and instead yelled.

  
“Coach wants us to gather at the gate in ten, ‘light training’ he said, you know what that means.”  He didn’t wait for Stan, instead heading back for his own room to get changed.

‘Light training’ turned out to be a run up and down the longest stairs any of the present guys had ever seen.

  
“That’s at least one thousand steps!” Clyde had commented, sounded awestruck and Token had hit the back of his head for that, resulting in a brief elbow-and-shoulder-pushing between the two of them.

“No way that’s a thousand steps, dude, more like three hundred.”

 

Mason turned around to them, smirking. If they hadn’t known the guy was a total sadist, they would know now.

“You can count them all to the last one. I want all of you up there in ten minutes and back down here in another five. We do the whole thing again until the last one of you can tell me exactly how many stairs there are, you got me? Who’s gonna start?” his eyes roamed around, eager with challenge, but none of the team stepped forward. Mason was about to express his severe disappointment in the Cows' enthusiasm for exercise, when someone piped up.

  
“Marsh should start, he’s the captain.”  That was Craig’s voice and when Mason eyed him, he kept looking at him unfazed. “It’s probably good to reinforce his leadership position.”

 

Mason was silent for a moment, probably assessing Craig’s intentions but since the guy’s words actually made sense, it was decided.

  
“Marsh, come on. Tucker, you’re up behind him. The rest of you line up behind them and get to the stairs, we don’t have all day.”

 

Craig’s gaze had the slightest glint of malice when Mason didn’t look. He stepped behind Marsh, close enough for him to be able to breathe against the back of the guy’s neck.  Today was a new day and even if he had enjoyed their little shower time together, Craig wasn’t done playing with him, not by far.  Marsh was way too attractive when he was angry.

 

Stan had started the day in high hopes. What he and Craig had done on the beach and in the shower was a one-off. Or at least, that’s how he squared it away. Just a poor decision made by a bored mind. He promised himself that it wouldn’t go any further, or happen again. The next time Craig did anything like it, the punching was the only part that Stan would repeat about his previous day’s performance. He had a nice breakfast, a good talk with Kyle and he’d been prepared for Mason’s terrible choices when it came to their training. The stairs multiplied before his eyes, but Stan wasn’t going to look like an idiot in front of his team. He hated jogging, and running exercises like this. They made your legs ache and your ass sweat and it was just a terrible way to start things off. Knowing Mason, they’d be doing a full set of kickoff practice moves after this, too.

Craig’s volunteering was as irritating as when the guy slid up behind him. He elbowed backwards and jabbed Tucker’s stomach.

“Back up a little, would you? I’m not giving you a piggyback, asshole.”

 

“As if I wanna cling to your sweaty back, Marsh.” Craig liked how feisty Marsh was and how pent up and ready to fight. If it had only been the two of them, Craig would’ve launched himself at him, just so they could brawl it out. And then, maybe make out once they were at it. But alas, they were not alone and they had three hundred steps of stairs ahead of them.

The exercise, once done, was followed by some stretching and general workout. Since it was happening close to the beach, people frequently walked by the group of sweating young men. Some stopped and looked (families), others took pictures (old people), and then there were gaggles of girls, a never-ending stream that walked by extra slowly for the show. However, none of the team could thoroughly appreciate the attention, mostly because Mason was a slave-driver who took sadistic pleasure in their efforts and various sunburns. 

 

If the hell stairs hadn’t been enough to get you sweating, the excessive amount of stretching and potential public shaming certainly was. Coach was parading them around, and Stan was pretty sure all of this had reason. They weren’t the only team at the resort, either. Maybe this was like one of those cheerleading movies that he definitely didn’t watch, and the South Park Cows were about to face off with some rival team for some meaningless trophy. And they’d learn valuable lessons about team spirit along the way. He would nominate Craig to be the villain, in a heartbeat, because he was right back to being a dick. The run up the stairs had come with jibes and slights that had made the horrid exercise even worse. At least with the stretching on a stretch of beach that was close to the boardwalk, Stan could put distance between himself and Tucker, preferring the company of Ian and Jake.

But Craig wouldn’t leave him alone, or rather, Mason (still firmly interested in getting them to work together better) seemed to not want to let him leave Stan alone.

After the stretching, Mason called them back together.

“Alright, now that you’re all warmed up, we’re gonna have some practise of a different variety today. Jimmy came up with a few ideas for teambuilding exercises. I want you guys to try those today. Jimmy, the floor is yours. Marsh and Tucker, a word over here.”

 

While Jimmy explained his ideas to the relieved rest of the team (at least not stupid kickoff practice!), Craig shot Stan a glance and then walked over casually as their coach had requested. Clearly, they were about to embark onto a new chance for him to put Marsh on the grill. It was like Mason had a knack for paving the way for Craig's entertainment. It was the only blessing about this stupid football retreat. Okay, the beach was nice too. Whatever.

  
“I want you two to work together. No bullshit this time around, you  guys seriously need to deal with your issues with each other. The team isn’t going to work if their two strongest players are at odds with each other like this.”

Stan wanted to disagree, but Craig was faster at getting his mouth open.

“Sure thing, coach.”

 

He was grinding his teeth. Stan didn’t remember the last time he’d done that, but it had been a while since he was frustrated enough to sink back into old habits. Damn Tucker, why the hell was he so eager? Why was Mason so obsessed with getting them to work together? It wasn’t like their differences had cost them many games...okay, maybe a few, but hell, Stan was the most talented quarterback in the whole of South Park. Surely, they didn’t expect him to be perfect at _everything_ , right? Wrong. Coach was giving him that look. But that was fine. Mason might act like tough shit, but he had nothing without Stan. And it was time to lean on that. He was not going to endure any more indignities.

“Why? He’s not that good a Center. Just switch Tucker and Decker and the team will be fine.”

 

Mason might shout a lot and yell at his team and make them train until they passed out, but he was generally a good guy.  He took care of his team and knew when the guys’ limit was reached and they really needed a break and when they were just bitching.  Sure, he had his favorites too, and Stan was definitely one of them (Mason had been a quarterback, too, before he’d broken a leg and didn’t make it), but if there was one thing he hated, it was people interfering with the team spirit.

He wasn’t playing in any league anymore, just casually and of course training the Cows, but Mason was still a buff guy. That definitely showed when he squared up to Stan, looking at him with heavy disappointment in his dark eyes.

“... do you have any idea what you’re talking about? Do you know what would happen if I just switch Decker and Tucker?”

Craig watched them. Marsh was quiet, didn’t seem to have an answer.

 

“That’s right. You have no idea what would happen. So do me a favor and let me do the coaching as long as I’m here, alright? You might have talent, Marsh, but you gotta learn how tone it down. You’re a nobody and we’re working on changing that. If you wanna stay a nobody, go ahead, be a bad teammate. But if you don’t…” Mason reached out to grab his shoulder and squeeze it, “If you don’t, you gotta learn how to deal with other people. This is a team game and I think while you two have talent, you’re just two angry roosters going at each other all day. You gotta find an outlet for that and this is why I want you two to work together, like it or not. I want you to become the best, Marsh.”

 

This was worse than being yelled at. Why couldn’t Mason just do him the favor and blow smoke up his ass, the way everyone else in town did? His coach’s best quality came back as a vicious slight today and it didn’t suit Stan whatsoever. He grimaced, glancing at Craig, who seemed delighted to have borne witness to the star quarterback getting a proper dressing down. And over him, of all people.

“Why don’t you tell  _ him _ that?” he replied sullenly, resigning himself to his fate. To be fair, Ian Decker wasn’t as good a Center as Craig, but hell, Stan would have made up for it with his own skill. If they were going to practice snapping yet again, he was going to die.

“So what, are we going to therapy?”

 

“Not the kind you think. You’re doing the exercises with the team first. I’ll meet you two at three at the gate.”

 

“Three? That’s our free time, coach.”

This time, Craig received a glare and he raised his hands in surrender, unwilling to sit through a lecture from their coach. One was enough to last him all week.

“Alright, alright, you really want us to suck each other’s dicks, huh?”

Mason turned away with a put-upon sigh and Craig flipped him off behind his back.


	7. Chapter 7

Annoyed that the afternoon was probably ruined, Craig trudged to the gate. Mason was already there, but of course Marsh, the princess, was late.  When he finally arrived, Mason led them around the hotel apartments and herded them into a rental car.  They didn’t speak much during the ten minute long drive, Mason silently accepting that the guys sitting in the back weren’t really happy about their afternoon spent with each other.

When they arrived, Mason led them inside an empty training hall, filled with sand bags hanging from the ceiling and of course the unmistakable boxing ring.

 

“Boxing.”

Craig stated, sounding bored to anyone who didn’t know him, but both Marsh and Mason probably picked up on the slight tinge of excitement in his voice.

“Yeah.” Mason shrugged, “You guys really need to work out the kinks. So get on in there, come on, Marsh.”

 

“Sure. This might actually be a good idea.”

Beating the shit out of Craig, with approval from the coach? That sounded like fun, or at least, some form of relief. He’d get to punch Tucker in the face, which should rid him of any impulse to grind on his dick. Because that shit needed to stop, immediately. Running up and down stairs had been helpful, only until Craig was breathing down his neck like a god damn bull. He got hustled into another locker room (he practically lived in them by now) and pulled off his clothes, swapping them for some long shorts, gloves and protective headgear. It looked pretty dumb, but Stan would prefer not getting another concussion thanks to Craig’s fists.

Unfortunately, Craig was here too, and Stan could feel his eyes burn into the skin of his back.

“You ready to get your ass handed to you, Tucker?”

 

Craig had finished changing before him, Marsh always took so long until he was happy with how he looked. Dumb, right now, with his face squooshed into the headgear, but Craig assumed he didn’t look much different.

Unlike Marsh who went topless, that vain little princess, Craig kept on his sleeveless undershirt, a white tank top that sported holes at the seams due to age.

“Please try, Marsh, I’m all up for it. I want all of you, on me.”

He knew innuendos would definitely rile the guy up. In his current state, Marsh was probably highly confused, a mixture between anger and arousal coursing inside of him when he thought of Craig and that was just perfect for a good fight. Or a good fuck, but with the coach here chances were low that was actually going to happen.

They left the locker room, Marsh first and Craig after him and Mason waved them to get into the ring. He himself stood outside, arms crossed, gaze scrutinizing.

“Alright, guys. I’d tell you to keep it fair, but I also know you really need to work it out, so go ahead. Just one thing: Stop if I tell you to or I’ll get in there.”

Craig knew that Mason wasn’t to be fucked with. Sure, if he needed to fight him, he would, but the guy was a tough opponent, definitely. His words had some skill for backup, that much was clear.

 

Coach seemed to be done with his little speech however and Craig readied himself. He didn’t know if Marsh knew anything about proper boxing, he himself certainly didn’t and it wasn’t going to matter because all he wanted was the whole of Marsh to lunge at him so they could finally brawl like Craig wanted to. 

Proper boxing etiquette was the furthest thing from Stan’s mind. As soon as the coach allowed it, he was ready to tear Craig a new one. He wanted to see him beaten and bloody. It wouldn’t feel as good without his own knuckles splitting against the guy’s face, but pummeling him here, in the ring, would have to do. From the second that the bell chimed, Stan was on Craig, frustrated and aflame with anger, which Craig was not the only fuel of, although he did contribute entirely too much to the pyre. It burst out of Stan in the form of jabs and punches at first, before he full on tackled Craig into the ropes, using his entire body to try and get him down.

None of it was boxing, but the coach didn’t call for them to stop. Stan was snarling wordless threats, pissed at his parents for making him waste his summer, pissed at coach for making them do this dumb bonding shit in the first place, pissed at Kyle for being so far away and never understanding any of Stan’s feelings, pissed at the world for having turned to shit no matter how much Stan tried to smile in the face of it. And Craig? Craig was the awful, smug face of the world, and he deserved to be fucked up for it.

 

Craig took the whole onslaught with a passion rarely seen in him. As he blocked and returned punches, then went to grapple with Stan, rolling around with him on the ground, grunting and snarling, his usually so emotionless face was aflame with that passion. His light blue eyes were glinting with nothing short of lust for violence, violence directed towards the one guy Craig thought able to actually take it in its entirety. And Stan took it like a champion, the fight was even, pretty much. Both of them landed a few good punches, Stan elbowed him under the ribcage and Craig pushed his knee into Stan’s stomach for it, but other than that, they did fight pretty fair. At some point both of their head pieces had come off, and Craig was definitely interested in taking off his gloves, too in order to see some blood, but then he hit Marsh in the face and the guy started a nosebleed and that soothed the urge already.

Coach still didn’t say anything, so Craig went at him with renewed fervor, trying to get Marsh to make him bleed as well. Or at least a bruise, something that would remind him of the exhilaration of this fight during the coming few days.

The gloves were off, literally. Apparently, coach Mason was perfectly content to watch Craig and Stan beat the shit out of each other. Fine. That was fine with Stan. He bit into the cord holding his right glove on, pulling it loose with his teeth until he could shake the damn thing off. When his fist met Craig’s face and his knuckles split open on the guy’s teeth, Stan felt a white-hot rush take him over. He was breathing hard by now, sweat slicking his back. And in some unrealized, distant horror, he also knew that he was half-hard in his shorts.

 

It hurt, his front teeth on the left side felt as if they were gonna fall out any second, but the pain searing through his skull turned into liquid fire on its way through his body, turning into a heady rush that had Craig addicted within seconds.  The feeling he knew, but it wasn’t the only thing that was addictive. Marsh’s expression was raw and open, full of pent-up emotions that were forcing their way out. It left Craig breathless, for a moment, just the fact that here was Stan Marsh, letting loose all his frustration and all the things he did for people to like him, being just himself.  Granted, an angry version of himself, but to Craig, it felt like he’d finally reached a goal he didn’t know he’d worked for. Sure, he had wanted to see Marsh angry and snarling and violent, but he had never expected the guy turned out to be affecting him so much.  Craig received another few punches for his baffled moment until he finally recovered from the shock that, holy fuck, Stan Marsh wasn’t just a hot mess Craig wanted to mess up even further, he was far more than that. Or could be. Maybe.

Finally, he managed to fight back again, got him good right under his chin and had him tumbling backwards. Craig was on him immediately, throwing him to the ground once again where they commenced to struggle and roll around. Fighting hard, Craig managed to pin him, if only for a few seconds. All of those seconds he used to look at Marsh’s ocean eyes and the blazing fire in them that drew him in without mercy.

He decided in this very moment, even if Stan headbutted him straight after, that he wanted to see it again and again. From the hard attack to his head, Craig fell off of Marsh, to the side and he stayed there, breathing heavily. From his side, the fight was over. He’d seen everything he wanted to and it had thoroughly shaken him up. Not to speak of the fact he was turned on enough to need a real cold shower to deal with his budding erection.

 

Stan wasn’t done. He took a moment or two to recover, before he was on Craig again, hands smeared with blood as he gripped his shirt and held him in place, drawing his fist back to slam it into Craig’s face one more time, but that was precisely the moment the bell chimed and Mason called for them to stop. He shuddered. His mouth tasted of copper, his body shivered with the liquid rage that still coursed through him.  Stan turned his head and spat out blood as he glared down at Craig, their eyes connecting for an intense second, before he let go and sat up, rolling off of Craig.

Craig looked back at him, his busted lips were curled with the smallest smile ever and his eyes were surprisingly soft. Marsh was still angry, he could feel the rage rolling off of him in waves, and he sucked it all up, greedily, wanting each and every emotion of the guy to be directed at him, shown to him, open for Craig to witness. When Marsh had sat up, Craig followed the example. His nose was stuffy and full with liquid (blood), there was something dripping from his chin (blood) and his knuckles felt wet (blood), his body was worn, but inside, he felt amazing.

In a good mood, Craig got to his feet, only ever so slightly wobbly before stabilizing, and held out a hand for Marsh to pull him up. Mason hadn’t said anything other than for them to stop, and he didn’t say anything now either.

Stan hesitated only for a second before he took the blood-slicked hand and pulled himself up. Mason crossed his arms and huffed a sigh.

“Get cleaned up, both of you. And if I catch either of you refusing to work together again, I’ll kick both of your asses. Is that clear?”

 

“Sure.” Stan mumbled, climbing out of the ring, suddenly aware of how much he hurt all over, now that the adrenaline was wearing off. 

This time, he was definitely going to shower in a stall.

 

Craig only felt slightly cock-blocked when Marsh went for the stalls, but maybe that made it better.

They showered briefly, both of them, and changed into their clothes without any words exchanged. On the way back, Craig didn’t say anything either.

His body hurt all over and by now, his head felt kind of mushy, too, but that didn’t matter because the feeling of exhilaration did not subside. Whenever he glanced at Stan, it came back, not as strong as before, but it was unmistakably connected to the guy now. It made Craig’s blood rush and his senses focused on Stan and maybe that had been coach’s intentions anyway. Perhaps it was a stupid football thing and he was supposed to feel like this about his quarterback?

Craig’s musings would remain a secret to the world, because Mason hustled them off back to the hotel as quickly as possible. Their little excursion had taken up most of the afternoon and a majority of the free time they were supposed to have. They made it back just in time to meet the other guys for dinner, where some choice comments were made about the state they were in. Mostly by the teammates that weren’t close to either of them. Token, Clyde and Jimmy were oddly quiet, at least until they shared a table with Craig in the hotel’s restaurant.

Stan seemed content to sit with Jake, Ian and Kevin, who accepted his company with a few unsure smiles and glances over to the other table. Clyde was the first to comment, once their meals started arriving.

“So, dude, what happened? You look like you got jumped by four guys.”

 

Craig shrugged. The guys had been suspiciously tiptoeing around the fact that he looked like shit, the skin over his left cheekbone going slightly blue already, his lip busted, not to speak of various bruises all over his body and his fucked up knuckles.

“Coach took Marsh and me boxing to work out the kinks. There wasn’t much boxing, more like a pit fight.”

 

Clyde’s eyes widened. “Dude, the coach let you guys just go at each other?”

 

Token and Jimmy were leaning over the table while Clyde sent a scared glance over to Stan.

“Marsh can fuck you up like this? Holy shit, dude.”

 

Craig shrugged again, feeling slightly interrogated. It rubbed him the wrong way to be questioned about it.

“Yeah. He’s a good fighter. Look at him, it’s not like he beat me or anything. Coach called it off.”

Memories filled his mind, pictures of Stan’s roughed up body with that slightly sweaty sheen to it, his messy black hair sticking in strands to his forehead, the way he grit his teeth, the sound of him snarling and of course, his blazing blue eyes. At the thought, heat ran down his spine, curling in his groin. Craig forced himself to think of something else, but that was hard when his eyes were already searching for ocean blue ones across the room. When their gazes met, Craig zeroed in on him.

It only took a moment, then he broke the eye-contact and leaned back in the seat, turning to his guys again.

Token and Jimmy shared a look. Craig literally turning away from them to make eyes at Stan was kind of strange move, especially considering the amount of bruises, scrapes and busted parts of his face, allegedly all the work of said guy he was making eyes at.

Craig was a weird one, always had been. He didn’t give a shit and sometimes cared far too much about trivial things. Usually involving animals, but never really people. It used to cover Tweek too, but since their breakup, icy silence reigned on that front, and any attempt to ask Craig about it ended in a very pissed off Craig who readily swung punches and cold shoulders. Personally, Token figured it was because he was hung up, completely, on his twitchy, coffee-drinking, metal-hearing ex, but he wouldn’t dare bring that up. He had a pretty face to maintain himself, and a number two ranking on the infamous list that he was proud of.

“So...what’s the deal? I thought you weren’t gay?”

 

This time, Craig’s icy eyes were on his friend. He didn’t exactly bristle nor did he look uncomfortable, but there was this air of annoyance around him that told people to better hold it right there.

“I’m not. Not a deal at all. I just think messing with him is entertaining and turns out the guy is actually not a pussy when it comes to fighting.” Craig pointedly looked at his friends. Every single one of them, for different reasons, didn’t like to get into fights. Craig had tried Token several times, but he didn’t get riled up. Marsh was a way better target. And more attractive, too.

The thought had him stumble mentally. Marsh was attractive, yes, but more than Token? How so? Why was it suddenly that when it came to thinking about anything remotely sexual, Marsh came to his mind?

“Marsh isn’t gay either. You know he gets all the chicks. Dunno what you are on about.”

 

“Whatever, dude. You’re the one who has to room with him.” Token shrugged, very easily picking up on the fact that Craig obviously wasn’t ready to discuss his internal going ons. He never was, so this didn’t really come as a surprise. At all. Clyde, for being Craig’s arguably best friend, was not so quick on the uptake.

“I’d let him blow me, if he was gay. Stan’s pretty fucking hot.”

Two seconds later, Clyde would have found himself being pulled over the table if he hadn’t sat next to Craig. Still, Craig had him by his collar, pulling his face really close to his own. Craig’s face didn’t change much, except for the glare he was giving his best friend.

“What about ‘he isn’t gay’ didn’t you understand, dumbass?”

Jimmy tried to intervene by joking. “H-hey dude, Craig, he’s j-j-j-j-j-j… j-j just being slow. It’s Clyde, what do you expect?”

Clyde looked terrified and instead of feeling insulted, he send a grateful look over to Jimmy when Craig let him go.

Token gave Clyde the ‘drop the topic dude’ eyebrows and that was that. Clyde had, thankfully, grown out of his ‘crying over everything’ phase and tugged at his collar, which Craig had nearly strangled him with. He would have continued to ask why Craig even gave a crap, but Token’s perfect eyebrows had that tilt of ‘stop talking’ to them and Clyde remained silent.

It was as uncomfortable a dinner as they could have mustered, considering no one really came up with anything to talk about until dessert (which turned out to be sliced mangos rather than the cheesecake on the menu). Jimmy, ever the hero of every conversation, managed the save.

“So, fellas. Did you see the lobby? Lots of c-c-college ladies checked in at noon.”

That perked Clyde up into a beam of sunshine right away.

“What kind of college ladies? Like, a whole group or just a few? Were they hot? You better not lie to me, Jim, I need this.”

Jimmy gave Clyde a toothy grin (ever since his braces came off, he liked to remind everyone that he had a dazzling set of chompers) and hope.

“Looked lii-like a cheer squad to me.”

 

Craig calmly swallowed the last piece of mango.  Next to him, Clyde was basically vibrating on his seat. Token’s eyes were on Craig, who put down his fork slowly.  Jimmy shot him a glance, too.

Clyde made a tiny whining noise.

“What the fuck are you waiting for? Let’s go.”


	8. Chapter 8

 

“I bet they’re at the beach, guys.” Clyde said and led the way, “Girls love the beach and especially on their first day after dinner. Maybe some forgot their bikinis, hell yea!” 

He would probably be quite the detective if all of his cases included lost, hot girls. The walk to the beach didn’t take long, especially because Clyde was determining the pace and was basically jogging. His motivation was curvy and bouncy and he held half a speech along the way about it.

Craig’s brain somehow did a 180 at that and instead of a picture of some hot naked girl in the water, it provided him with a bruised Stan Marsh. Okay, maybe he really needed some college girls to take the edge off, this wasn’t amusing anymore.

 

Craig and his gang’s abrupt departure after dinner wasn’t exactly subtle. Half of the team was already gone, and the few stragglers that remained were grouping up to head out too. Stan watched them all from his empty table with the barest hint of angry misery.  The night life around here was probably just like in any spring break movie, full of drinking and partying college kids. It sounded great, in theory. But Stan’s reality involved not having any friends to hang around and damn it, he was already sick of his team. At this point, he missed Kyle and Kenny like hell.

Cartman could still go suck a dick, though.

 

The entire team was gone by the time Stan shuffled out of the restaurant, directionless for the most part, before returning to the only place he knew here. At least he had the room to himself. Without Craig in it, it was actually nice and quiet. Stan listened to music for twenty minutes, jerked off for ten (decidedly NOT picturing the fight from earlier) and stared at the ceiling for another five. Time seemed to crawl by far too slowly. Deciding that sleeping also wasn’t happening, Stan got changed again. Might as well enjoy the beach, right? Right. Earbuds in, music motivational and loud, Stan set off running through the sand, sucking in salty ocean air.

He couldn’t have known about the large gathering of college kids further along the beach, which was where Craig and his gang ended up too. Naturally.

 

The South Park Cows had successfully located the mentioned college girls and they did turn out to be a cheer squad: currently without the respective team, but very interested in getting to know some fresh blood.

Skimpy swimwear wasn’t involved just yet, but the tops and skirts and hot pants were short enough for Clyde to have a great evening. Most of the team felt similar as they stood and sat around with the girls. Craig had been eyed by a few, though he didn’t exactly come off as particularly approachable, up until they asked Clyde about him and the guy promptly came over with several girls in tow. After a brief introduction, he ended up leaving with two, one in each arm, the third one standing with Craig a little bit away from the general crowd. She wanted to say something, but Craig did first.

“So, do you wanna make out or what?”

 

Her eyes widened, then she chuckled. “You’re a direct one. I like my inexperienced highschool meat like that. Some of the othe--”

She didn’t get any further in her sentence, because Craig had already pulled her into a kiss, arms wrapping around her. Thirty seconds in, Craig still felt nothing. He might as well have made out with a wooden board. Not because she wasn’t into it. She was, plenty. But he just couldn’t find anything about the way she pushed her bountiful cleavage against his chest or squeezed her body really close to him.

From close up, she wasn’t all that pretty either. The dim light had done a lot for her from a distance, but up close, meh. Craig didn’t really care, he wasn’t going to be a bad kisser so he went with it, that was until his gaze wandered past her face and over her shoulder, into the darkness laying itself onto the beach. There, just by the water, a lone figure was moving, jogging along the sand.

Craig broke the kiss and shouldered past her, completely ignoring her confused question and then the insult she threw after him as he went after the figure on the beach. Call it gut feeling or whatever, but Craig needed to see if the notion that came to his mind was true. He followed the jogger, away from the group so they were only small figures in the distance. Then, he caught up to him, knowing full well from seeing the broad back and the short oily-black hair that this was the guy he’d been looking for.Craig grabbed his arm and Stan whipped around, shocked and confused.

In this very moment, under Marsh’s flabberghasted gaze, Craig figured out that he hadn’t actually thought about what he’d do once this situation arose. What the hell did he even want with Marsh?

 

One earbud fell out with the force of the turn and Stan was ready to snap at whoever was grabbing him, but one look at the icy, deadened eyes and the sharp cheekbones of Craig Tucker and Stan clammed right up, mouth a tight line and eyebrow rising up to question this interruption.

“Tucker? What do you want? Did you follow me?” Maybe Craig was really a creepy stalker. It wouldn’t surprise Stan in the slightest, but he wasn’t afraid of the guy and his perfect hair. Uh...that was a strange feature to get stuck on. Stan shook his arm loose of Craig’s hold.

 

He honestly had no idea, at first, but Craig wasn’t dumb and he had good ideas, always had. Further away from the hotel like they were right now, the light pollution was low and it was nearly entirely dark, clear skies above.

“I wanted to show you something.” he said, voice even. Marsh was weary, of course, but Craig let go off him and took a step forward, past him. “Follow me.”

 

He led him along the beach a little further, gaze out towards the ocean. Not even one minute in, they were now walking up a rocky bit towards a cliff on the side of the beach, Craig suddenly stopped and squatted down behind one of the rocks. Placing his hands on its surface, he turned his head and looked up, then seemed happy with it and got up.

“Down there, head to the side a little bit.” Craig instructed and patiently waited for Stan to get in the right position, “Now look up at the moon and then to the right.”

Marsh was granted a little pause, before Craig continued.

“The red light there, the bigger one. That’s Mars. And above that, little bit to the side, that’s Saturn. You can see it with the naked eye here, you don’t get that in South Park. Maybe on the mountain, but who goes up there to look at the sky?”

Except him, of course. And Tweek. But that was far, far away.

 

Stan had been ready for another indecent assault. Even when they clambered over rocks and looked up at the sky, he’d been tense, expecting another weird encounter with Craig, laced with violence or intimacy, or both. He was beginning to understand that he knew very little about Craig Tucker and in consequence, the guy just kept becoming more unpredictable. But then, he was being shown a bright red light and offered an explanation and he understood this was neither of the things he expected. Craig was sharing something else, some part of himself that Stan could only guess was something usually unseen.

“You into astronomy, or something? I thought that was a plane.”

 

The comment yanked Craig right back into reality. He was standing here, on a nightly beach, hanging out with the guy he’d picked out to mess with during this trip. Maybe this was messing with him, too, but it didn’t feel like it. It felt like he’d made a mistake and he regretted it and the weird notion of slight embarrassment that came with being questioned like that instantly.

"It’s… not.” Craig said, slowly, “Do you see it moving? Blinking? If a star moves and blinks it’s probably the ISS.”

Why was he going on with this stuff?  Marsh clearly had no appreciation in him for it and Craig suddenly felt out of the loop for just assuming that he did.  That was probably a lesson he still had to learn: just because Tweek, his only other real relationship, had liked so many of the same things Craig liked, it didn’t mean that everyone around him liked it, too.  Especially not Marsh. Marsh was entirely different to Tweek.

Craig eyed him squatting there, he had to give him credit for still looking up at the sky though it probably really wasn’t interesting to him. Something splashed in the distance and Craig peered out over the rather calm ocean. It took a few moments, then a shadow shot out of the water and back inside, repeating the splashing noise.

“... a dolphin?”

 

“What?! Where?” Stan was captivated immediately, searching the dark waves until he too found the splashing noise and its source. He was standing up to get a better look. Yes, there! A dorsal fin, a blowhole, a sleek body emerging from the black surface.

“Wow. That’s...a bottlenose? Where’s the rest of the pod?” And what was the creature doing, flipping and jumping at night? Was it hunting here? Stan’s thoughts circled around everything he knew of dolphin behavior, but the sight alone was mesmerizing to him. “That’s so cool. I didn’t think I’d see any, but I was hoping....look! There’s another one.”

 

Craig spotted the other dolphin too, but then he just needed to turn his head and look at Marsh. He looked downright excited, his face openly curious and on the verge of surprise turning into amazement. He watched that happen, the way he could see, even in the dark, how Stan’s lips stretched into a wide smile, how his eyes were soft and appreciating as if he was witnessing some sort of miracle. Okay, maybe dolphins at night were a little miracle and Craig was kind of glad that they had shown up and kinda saved the earlier situation gone wrong. Marsh was already on his way closer to the water and Craig followed him. From here, they could see the shapes more clearly, the moonlight from above clearly reflecting on sleek bodies playing in the waves.

“They’re pretty cute.”

 

“They’re beautiful,” Stan muttered, enamored with the view. Craig didn’t know it when he’d pulled Stan aside to show him the stars, but he’d done something sweet for Stan and he deserved some credit for it. Stan’s hand brushed Craig’s arm, fingers aching to twine together. This was the kind romantic shit that Stan always wanted, but never dared to chase. He wasn’t supposed to, right? Masculinity and all that noise.

But fuck, it was nice. And he was here with the least romantic son of a bitch in their entire school.

“Thanks for...bringing me here. I’m sorry I’m dumb as fuck when it comes to stars.”

 

The touch to his arm made his skin tingle, but Craig resisted the urge to look down and see what Marsh was doing. Instead, he side-glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, but the guy’s gaze was still firmly locked on the dolphins. Aware of the fact people thought he had no emotions and therefore had probably no idea about romance combined with Tweek not actually ever telling anyone about just how romantic Craig could be, it was quite obvious that Marsh thought this was romantic but probably assumed Craig didn’t get it. He did though. It was probably more the myriad of celestial bodies above them than the playing dolphins that got his heart beating faster (and maybe the fact that Marsh looked adorable), but Craig knew what kind of situation this was. Decisively, he reached for Marsh’s hand, eyes firmly on the dolphins, he wasn’t going to look at him, even if he decided to try if he could meet Craig’s eyes. He intertwined their fingers loosely, but held his hand ever so firmly in his own. There was a short moment of silence in which probably both of them listened closely for any noise coming from the other. Craig broke it, at last.

“Planets.” He said, “Mars and Saturn are planets.”

 

“I knew that.”

He did, but he hadn’t bothered to remember. Stan never really paid attention to anything that wasn’t immediately interesting. The sky still wasn’t, even now, but the fingers in his own definitely were. Craig Tucker was holding his hand, standing on a beach at night, watching dolphins play under the stars. Kyle’s ears would fall off if he ever heard about this. Stan wondered if he could ever tell him, but stuffed it aside in favor of leaning his arm against Craig’s. No one had to know that they were secretly dorks. It was nice to share that fact with someone, though, someone outside of his childhood friendship circle. It was a whole, new experience for Stan, to get to know someone whom he had, technically, known for years without being interested.

“So...can you show me those star pictures? Constellations?”

 

“Look up ahead.” Craig said quietly, “Just right above the ocean surface. There’s four medium-bright stars in a diamond formation and two below them, the first one rather dark and the last one bright again.” Stan’s hand was warm in his and Craig leaned against him ever so slightly. Their arms touched more, up to their shoulders now. He gave Stan a moment to locate what he meant, then continued.

"That’s the dolphin constellation.” Stan liked dolphins, right?

 

Stan squinted in the direction Craig had pointed out, but all he saw were clumps of stars, rather than shapes. Still, he could appreciate the gesture. Craig was really trying here and that was uncharacteristically cute. Who knew Tucker could be sensitive enough not to ruin a moment?

“Oh yeah, there’s the dorsal fin,” He could try, even if he couldn’t deeply appreciate winking stars at all. The waves lapped gently at the shore and the noise of the distant beach party was merely a quiet backdrop. It was definitely a _moment_. Just like when they’d been skinny dipping. Craig’s hand was warm in his own and it gave Stan courage.

“So, Tucker, if I wanted to, in theory, kiss you right now, would you be inclined to punch me?”

 

Craig’s eyes wandered to the side again, so he could look at Marsh. The guy was still staring out across the ocean. It was Craig who turned his head towards him first. Stan’s hand held his own still.

“I’m always inclined to punch you, Marsh. Just the body part to punch with kinda changes occasionally.”

Stan looked at him, at last, with a baffled expression at the heavy flirting thrown his way. Craig smirked at him, then nodded his head at him.

“Wanna figure out which one it is today?”

 

“You’re fucking awful. We were having a moment, asshole.” Stan’s insult came out rather softly as he turned towards Craig, his free hand reaching up to cradle the asshole’s head. If he was going to make out with someone at the beach, the least they could do was not be a dick about it. But no dice when it came to Craig Tucker. Stan brought their lips together, fairly certain that he wasn’t gonna collect a black eye for it. Craig tasted salty like the sea breeze, but it was underlined with something foreign and sweet. A drink? No, Stan knew the slippery consistency coating Craig’s lips. He pulled away just a little, his lips still brushing against Craig’s mouth.

“Are you wearing lip gloss?”

 

“Just for you.” Craig answered, making his voice particularly sweet, before he claimed Marsh’s lips again, the kiss electrifying between them.

The girl he’d made out earlier with and whose lipgloss apparently still was on him was completely gone from his mind, all that mattered was the guy in front of him and how Craig could get more of his body to be squeezed against his own. He didn’t let go off Marsh’s hand, accepted the fact that he was cradling his head and wrapped his own arm around the guy’s waist, pulling him in closer. Stan apparently didn’t wanna let it go, he still seemed reluctant to kiss, so Craig pulled back.

“We found the college girls. Didn’t really work for me though.” That was as much of an explanation as Marsh would get, Craig would certainly not confess the truth he was seeing at last to him. At least not now.

 

Ah. The explanation was unnecessary, and now that it was there, Stan didn’t particularly like it. And he definitely didn’t want to think about why Craig making out with some college girl was an uncomfortable thought. It wasn’t like he was interested in Tucker that way. Not at all. He wasn’t jealous.  He was just...annoyed to be the second choice. Yeah. That was it.

“Couldn’t get it up? What, are you gay for real now, or what?”

 

“You interested?”

Spoken against Marsh’s lips that were probably still wet from the makeout twenty seconds ago, the words had a whole lot of impact behind them. Craig wasn’t going to straight up tell him that yes, he was in fact very gay and he’d found out about it thanks to his person, thank you very much. The hand on Marsh’s lower back pressed him against Craig so their bodies were close enough to feel the other breathe in and out. Craig watched him for a moment. Even in the dark, Marsh’s eyes were expressive along with his eyebrows. He was confused right now, slightly aroused and maybe a little bit… jealous? The mere idea of that intrigued Craig to a point where he just had to kiss him again, hard this time. He let go off Marsh’s hand and enclosed him completely in his arms, holding him tight. He paused the kiss, only to whisper his next words very quietly.

“Because I am.”

 

That didn’t help ease Stan’s confusion. Was Craig coming out to him while also hitting on him? Was he serious, or playing another dumb game? Stan didn’t want to be the idiot who fell for everything, but he couldn’t deny that the prospect was intriguing. Awkward, he closed his arms around Craig in turn, making the embrace more mutual. Craig’s shoulder was pretty comfortable.

“Me too. I think. I mean...I think I’m bi as hell.”

 

Stan coming out to him like this surprised Craig. This cut off the last little strings that had them attached to any sort of game between them. Marsh was being serious here, entrusting him with something that he had probably given a lot of thought.  Instead of making Craig want to take advantage of that though, it made the strange urge to be protect rise up in his chest.  He hugged him properly now, bringing his head next to Stan’s.

“That’s okay, Marsh. You don’t miss out like that, I guess.” Even though he didn’t say it, everything in Craig tried to convey that he would keep this secret for as long as Stan wanted him to. “Have you been with a guy before?”

 

“No.”

But he wanted to try. In moments like this, with Craig, he wanted to try. Not when they were punching the living daylights out of one another, though all of those times had been opportunities for Stan to realize that he found power and the male body very attractive.  There was still the whole notion of Craig stringing him along in some weird game, but this confession had felt genuine. As genuine as Craig’s weird lust for him.

“But I’ve thought about it. Guys. Well. One guy, but...I don’t stand a chance. And it’s way too complicated. I can’t be me without disappointing everyone I know.”

 

One guy could really only mean _ that  _ one guy if you considered that Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski were basically magnetically drawn to each other.

Craig didn’t say anything about it though. He didn’t want anybody to speak to him about Tweek either, so he knew what it felt like to be into someone and to feel like you have no chance in hell to make this work. Again, in his case. At all, in Marsh’s case. Marsh looked like he was ready to burst into some emotional thing, so Craig quickly tried to be pragmatic about it. Being pragmatic, acknowledging the reality of the other and working with it was certainly something he was good in by now.

“I think you gotta take little steps. First things first. You think you’re into guys. Try it, then. There’s time to worry about how to come out when you actually know you’re part gay.” He mustered Marsh’s pretty face and then leaned in to bring their foreheads together, “This is summer camp, Marsh. Tell me a better place to try things than right here.”

 

“Is that what you’re doing with me, Tucker?” Stan was almost whispering by now. It didn’t matter, they were close enough to each other to hear every word. But it still felt like a deeply private, secret thing. Just between them. “Because if it is, I need you to tell me. I’m fine with punching you in the face, but I’m not interested in having sex with a guy that wants to fuck me over and laugh about it.” Stan was terribly aware of the fact that he had trusted Craig with too much. He wasn’t his best friend. He wasn’t even his friend. He could kill Stan’s social life for the rest of highschool.

 

Even though he wasn’t particularly empathetic, Craig understood that Marsh was worried. With his most calming voice, smooth and gentle regardless of its still slightly nasal tone, Craig decided to tell him a bit more of the truth.

“Marsh, I’m all for fucking with you, I even want to fuck you at this point. But I’m not fucking you over. I’d say trust me, but you don’t, so here’s a reason why you should: It makes absolutely no sense for me to fuck you over. Your life would be ruined, at school, and there would be no fun in riling you up anymore.” He removed one of his arms from hugging-duty and brought the hand up to carefully grab Stan’s chin and make him look at him.

“You're fun. It'd be really fucking dumb to destroy you.”

 

That was a first. Craig Tucker, admitting that he gave a shit, sort of. About Stan, of all people. It did something to the pit of his stomach, which was warm. Very warm. Fuck. Did he care about Craig?

“I’m dumb enough to believe you.” He sucked in a deep breath, adjusting his grip on Craig. He didn’t know what they were now. Summer camp...butt buddies? That didn’t feel right. Neither did the snipe that had been on his tongue. He’d much prefer to have Craig on his tongue, and that realization had him choke a little bit. As did the words that tumbled from his lips as eager word vomit.

“Alright. I wanna suck your dick.”

 

Those words went straight to Craig’s dick which turned out to be very interested in the proposal. Craig’s face didn’t misbehave though, except for his eyes that widened slightly with surprise at the unexpected offer. The picture of Marsh on his knees wanted back onto the forefront of his mind, but Craig didn’t let it. He wasn’t going to run around with a straight-up boner just because Marsh had said one hot thing. Craig observed him for a moment and Marsh looked embarrassed and surprised, as if he himself hadn’t thought he would say stuff like that.

“Not here,” He grabbed Stan’s hand again and pulled him with him. “Let’s go back.”

 

There was no argument in Stan this time. Craig leading the way meant that Craig was on board with the whole situation. Stan was...going to suck a dick. Tonight, within in the hour. Holy shit. This whole bicuriosity thing was taking off like a jet plane and Stan was trailing after it with a dizzy head. When they passed the party, his grip on Craig’s hand tightened, but no one looked their way. No one noticed, and no one cared if Stan Marsh was going to lose his gay virginity in some form. By the time they reached their room, Stan’s body was on fire and his dick half-hard.

 

Craig closed and locked the door behind him. He wasn’t nervous, he knew what was going to happen, but Marsh was, he could feel it in the way he clung to his hand. It was kind of adorable, really, and Craig who, five days ago, would’ve sworn he only got it up for Marsh because he could fight, was now experiencing the telltale signs of arousal coursing through his body just because of the prospect of what was going to happen.  Marsh wasn’t struggling, he wasn’t reluctant and feisty, he was nervous and insecure and Craig wanted to make it a good experience for him.  He held his hand even when they went across the room where Craig pulled the curtains tightly shut. The ceiling light he turned off, too, which left them in darkness until his free hand found the switch for one of the smaller lights on the nightstand.

Still holding Marsh’s hand, Craig sat down with him on his own bed. He met Stan’s eyes and felt something tug on his heart because the guy looked like he was ready to faint any second.

“Hey, Marsh.” Craig hummed, gently, “Don’t think too hard about it. Come here.”

Wrapping an arm around Stan, he pulled him in a position where they could both lay back on the bed. It turned out to be a rather difficult task for two broad guys like them to cuddle in the hotel bed, but they made do. Craig moved down until they were looking at each other again.

“We’re just gonna continue where we left off, okay? If you end up sucking my dick, fine, if you don’t, that’s fine, too, alright? No expectations, just us enjoying summer camp for once.”

 

“You haven’t been enjoying it so far?”

Stan was indeed pretty nervous. Which was weird, because he hadn’t been so far. Well, not with Craig. When he and Wendy first started having sex, Stan had been a wreck, worried he’d hurt her, worried she’d hurt him, worried that he’d throw up on his girlfriend. But he hadn’t been nervous with Craig before, mostly angry and confused. Now, he was nervous and confused and not at all angry, and that might be the key here.

Craig looked at his face. Marsh’s cute nose stuck out to him and of course those deep blue eyes. He was really handsome and combined with his rather outgoing personality (or at least the part of it he showed the world), Craig understood why he was more popular than him or Token, even if both him and his friend were voted hotter than Marsh. He brushed their lips together while they were still looking at each other. Craig was the first one to let his eyes fall shut, to prove to Marsh that he wasn’t feeling violent right now, to show that it was really just about having some fun together, painless this time around.

Kissing him was good, Craig decided. He noticed every time how Marsh’s lips felt great against his own, how he wanted this. It was odd. After kissing different girls since he’d broken up with his long-term boyfriend, this was the only time he felt this pleased about it. Elated, really, as if his whole body was participating in the kiss, somehow connected to Marsh even though only their lips were touching (okay and some other parts where the guy was snuggled against him, but those didn’t count).

As the kiss went on, Craig’s arms drew Marsh in closer, letting his hands roam. Above the clothes first as to not freak him out. His fingers ran along the waistband of his pants casually, never dipping under it, never even going past it that was until he could finally feel Marsh relax into the kiss. It was a little bit like when they had been in the shower together. Craig’s hand smoothed over the firm globes of Marsh’s ass, cupping one cheek in a secure grip and squeezing him tightly while at the same time pushing him against him. Craig moved his hips forward, not quite jerking them, but the tight pressure between their bodies, the warmth against his rapidly hardening dick had him gasp into the kiss.

 

Kissing Craig was a great distraction. The rub of their slick tongues together mirrored the tight fit of their body and the nerves that had previously rattled Stan’s brain fell away. A layer of soft cotton covered his mind, tucked away his anxious thoughts. Instead, he concentrated on the rushing blood in his veins, the growing hardness of his dick, trapped against Craig’s, the snap of Craig’s hips, the way Craig’s fingers were digging into his ass. Craig was everywhere, invading every sense Stan had, and good it felt good to let go. To stop caring about what would happen, what his friends would think...was this how Craig felt, all the time? Stan’s traitorous voice let slip a moan, just like in the shower. He wanted Craig, everywhere. On him, in him, taking him over without Stan’s choice in the whole matter.

The moan, to his embarrassment, was Craig’s name.

 

His own, first name, moaned by Stan Marsh had Craig’s rushing blood turn into liquid fire. He raised the pressure of his hand against the guy’s ass but when that didn’t feel like enough, Craig pushed himself up and rolled Stan on his back. Craig was on him a moment later, bringing their bodies back together, now properly lined up against one another.  Instead of kissing his lips, he trailed hot kisses down Stan’s neck, that was until the shirt got in the way.

Craig sat up, eyes full of desire, his dick hard and visibly straining in his shorts. Marsh was looking at him and Craig did not just not mind, he savoured the moment entirely. Slowly and as sexily as possible, he pulled his own shirt over his head before pulling up Stan to rid him off his shirt. There were bruises all over him and while Craig didn’t plan on making more, he did secretly enjoy the fact that they were all made by him.

 

Being stared at by someone throning on him was not new, but it was in this particular context. Wendy hadn’t ever stripped for him like this. With her, it was more of a shimmying of panties and a butt wriggle here and there (which had been plenty at the time, of course). But with Craig...

It punched the air out of Stan’s lungs to realize just how _much_ he was enjoying being attracted to a guy. Especially a guy like Craig, who looked like he could be cast in some cheesy movie as the leading ‘hottie’. It would simply require a complete personality transplant. Stan’s aberrant thoughts were shattered by the demanding tug on his own shirt. Craig wanted it gone. Craig would have his way tonight. Now, they were considerably more naked, and that didn’t take any wind out of their sails. Stan reached out, both hands landing on Craig’s body, where he reverently traced each line, each curve of muscle. His skin was hot and firm to the touch and Stan straightened up as much as he could to mouth at what he was burning for. It was so easy...there was nothing fragile about Craig.  Not about his body, not about his expectations. He didn’t want Stan to lovingly provide for him. It didn’t have to mean anything. He was happy to let Stan explore as he wanted.

Stan tested himself, tested Craig when he began to suck dark marks over Craig’s stomach, working his way up until he could suck one of Craig’s nipples into his mouth.

 

Upon seeing him strip off his shirt like that, Marsh seemed to have understood a fundamental thing about this. Craig had said it before, but only now it seemed to have actually arrived in the guy’s very being.  
This was summer camp, a bubble really, in which anything or nothing could happen. Craig had invited him to try, was still encouraging him and Stan could figure out if he really liked guys like that or not. Granted, Craig had his own goals here, he wanted Marsh to do exactly what he was doing now, to let himself loose and just have at him with all the passion and the blazing blue of his eyes he usually only ever showed during fights with him. Marsh was on him now, arms tightly around his waist, his lips glued to pale Colorado skin. Craig’s hands came up to touch his shoulders, then ruffle his hair. He grabbed a fistful of ink black hair and pushed Stan’s face more against himself, encouraging him further with a low hiss as the guy’s lips closed around his nipple.

His dick was currently trapped between him and Stan’s upper abdomen, hard and definitely noticeable by the other guy. It didn’t seem to bother Stan at all.

 

He could do this all night. Stan sucked a little harder, twisting his teeth in Craig’s skin, tracing his tongue over the sensitive little nub. Craig was stiff and heavy, pressing against his stomach. And Stan bristled with excitement over the fact. He was turning a guy on this much, just by doing what he wanted. He hadn’t asked. He’d just done it, and now he was abusing Craig’s skin and it tasted amazing. A little like ocean, a little like the bonfire, but mostly of Craig and that awful, cheap bodywash he used. Stan remembered his promise, but he could go down for dick just yet. He wanted to do it at his own pace, and Craig was gonna have to go along with it or go jerk himself off. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t at least look at it. Touch it, maybe.

Craig was only wearing shorts, and those were easily displaced. Stan pulled them down, over his ass first, then over the sizeable erection. Craig didn’t look bad at all. Actually, much the opposite. Stan would have thought he’d be weirded out, seeing another guy’s dick all hard and ready to go, but it was just a familiar sensation. He knew what it felt like, he knew how turned on Craig must be to be this stiff. And it was all because of Stan. He looked up at Craig, mouth a little open, breathing a little fast.

“...you’re really into me.”

 

Craig’s pale eyes zoned in on the guy below him. He’d been a little distracted, Stan’s hands and lips on him left fire in their wake. But when he talked, Craig's brain luckily still functioned. Marsh looked amazing like this and yes, Craig was very much turned on. Not just because he had a thing for people doing stuff to his damned nipples, but because he did want Stan, right now, his fantasy unhelpfully supplying him with all the possibilities of what he could do to him, using his dick.

“I am.” He admitted, not sounding any sort of ashamed about it, mainly because he wasn’t and also because this wasn’t the first time a guy marveled at him for having a boner because of him. "I thought I made that clear?”

Apparently he hadn’t and so, Craig decided it was about time to show that to Stan and return the favour. He leaned over Stan and managed to get the shorts off of him, leaving him entirely naked.

If Stann was surprised about how hard he made Craig, then maybe Craig hadn’t turned him on enough just yet, so he decided to change the fact and descended down on Stan’s chest, teeth and lips and tongue leaving a hot trail down his body.  When he reached the waistband of Marsh’s shorts, Craig looked up to meet his eyes, then brought his hands up to Stan’s stomach and smoothed them down over shapely abs.  At the same time he dove deeper, just so he could teasingly nuzzle Marsh’s dick through his pants before he finally took the shorts off of him.

Once they were both naked, Craig took a moment to look at Marsh. He’d seen the guy naked before, but he hadn’t really had the chance to look at his dick so much, especially not ready to go like this.

Stan’s dick was definitely bigger than his own, not that much, but a little. It wasn’t much longer, but did have more girth. Not that Craig was unhappy with his dick, but Marsh seemed to be built everywhere. Of course he was, Stan fucking Mr Perfect Marsh.

 

“You have a nice dick, Marsh.” Craig complimented him, “No wonder the girls all want you.” He chuckled and leaned over him, arms to the right and left of his chest.

Craig kissed him again when he finally brought their naked bodies together, resulting in a momentary pause in the kiss when they both gasped for air. 

“Fuck, yeah.” Craig murmured into Stan’s cheek as he rocked his hips against him, “Feels pretty good.”

 

It did. It felt really damn good. So did Craig’s breath against his cheek. Stan opened his eyes, just a little, though he didn’t remember when he’d closed them in the first place. In the dim twilight of the room, he could only really see Craig’s face, but he didn’t need any more than that.

“You...you feel great,” he praised, breathlessly, his fingers resuming their wanderings along Craig’s body. Firm and hot, everywhere they touched skin. Craig’s back was pleasantly arched down to meet him right now and Stan wanted to press the two of them together, everywhere. They were already mashed together at the hips, their stomachs pressed over each other, their dicks trapped in between, too close to not be touching. Stan snaked a hand down anyway. He wanted to try this. He’d seen it in too many gay porn movies that he definitely didn’t watch and jerk off to.

His hand barely fit around both of their dicks, but he managed. As he did, his breath hitched.

“Holy...shit.”

Craig’s dick felt like fire, but in the best way. The skin was so soft, Stan kind of wanted to pet it. He fought the impulse down violently, instead giving the two trapped shafts an experimental pump.

 

“Good idea…” Craig muttered, sounding as breathless as Stan. Being touched by a guy, being with a guy like this was so different from girls and finally, Craig felt like he knew what he had been missing. Marsh’s body was kind of like his dick, soft only on the thin outer layer and all firm and unyielding beneath. Just the right way to make Craig crazy with desire.

"Hold on.” 

Reaching over, Craig fumbled for the drawer of his nightstand in order to produce a little bottle of lube, “Give me your hand.”   When Stan obeyed and presented his hand, Craig squeezed a generous amount of the gooey, slippery liquid onto it. 

“It’s gonna get even better like this.”  He took Stan’s hand and guided it back to where it had been. The lube was cold on their sensitive, hot skin, but only for a moment. Craig’s hand enclosed around Stan’s,  “Hold like this, and then just…”  Craig trailed off as he moved his hips forward, sliding his dick along Marsh’s own as well as his hand. He groaned and cursed under his breath.

 

Stan’s mouth fell open in a surprised little ‘o’. That...was fucking amazing. He never thought he could get so heated over sliding his dick through his own, slick palm. The presence of Craig’s dick made all the difference, of course. The firm, thick length of it dragged over Stan’s, creating this weird friction that wasn’t quite comparable to a regular handjob. It was glorious. Stan’s mouth opened a little wider and someone was panting, hard. It took him a while to realize it was him.

“Jesus, Craig. This is...fucking amazing.” Stan’s praise came with the attempt of more sloppy kissing, which was mostly just Stan trying to shove his tongue into Craig’s mouth.

 

Craig let him. The kiss was sloppy, amazingly so, he loved sloppy kissing. Stan’s body under him like this did wonders to him. Even if he had plenty of practise with this and wasn’t really as much in an overwhelmed state as Marsh seemed to be, Craig could, in theory, come like this. Just because it was Marsh. He was flushed, his cute nose scrunched up the tiniest bit. Craig looked at him, took in his features and then leaned down to brush their cheeks together again and whisper to him.

“You’re crazy beautiful like this, Stan.”

 

Craig had no idea what kind of dynamite he was playing with. Stan would be loathed to admit it if anyone asked, but when Craig used his name, complimented him, he really couldn’t hold on any longer. The pressure in his balls was unbearable and the slow, steady motion of their dicks together was too good to endure. Stan’s eyebrows scrunched to meet and a very throaty moan left him as he spilled himself shamelessly against their stomachs, without any warning whatsoever. His eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide, cheeks a feverish red.

“Fuck,” his voice was wispy after that moan and he shivered beneath Craig. The warm, sticky mess was smeared between them with every motion.

 

When Stan tensed up under him, Craig raised his head just in time to see how the handsome face dealt with expressing his feelings when he came. Marsh could probably go work in porn or something, because the face he pulled was absolutely devastating and burned itself into Craig’s mind along with the sound of that moan. The memory was stored away for later use, that much was clear. He almost came himself, but managed to keep it together, maybe just to go on a little bit longer. Looking at Stan even post-orgasm was dangerous, the guy just had a sex face to die for. Craig was going to tell him that at some point, but not now. Instead he kissed Stan, slowing down the motion of his hips until they just laid around, Craig on top of him, slick warm liquid between them.

“Good, huh?” Craig positively purred to his ear. His body knew from muscle memory that after coming like this, he usually got some other treat waiting for him after. That could or could not be the case, but he was ready for it regardless. If Marsh wanted to stop, he’d go jerk it in the shower.

  
  


Stan did not want to stop. Instead, he nodded at Craig, eyes soft with something entirely unspoken. He didn’t need to say it. Craig knew, right? That this was important? That Stan was surprisingly comfortable? That he felt amazing with a man on top of him? Maybe Craig couldn’t know all of that, but Stan lifted his clean hand to trace along Craig’s cheek. He had excellent bone structure, the kind that landed you modeling jobs and girls if that was your thing. It probably wasn’t Craig Tucker’s thing. Stan slid his fingers over the soft, warm skin, marvelling over the fact that Craig wasn’t remotely laughing at him. Wendy once said he looked like a dork when he came, and although she had giggled sweetly and kissed him afterwards, the notion had remained with Stan nonetheless.

“Really, really, really good, Craig.”

 

“I’m sure the amount of ‘really’ directly correlates with how good it actually was.” Craig stated, but a soft little smile curled his lips. He turned his head and kissed into Stan’s hand, eyes still on him.

“Glad to be of help in your gay adventure.” This time, he actually chuckled and leaned down to kiss Stan. When he came back up to look at him once more, his eyes were rarely soft as well, “Anytime you want.” 

He shimmied his body downwards a little just so he could kiss Stan’s chest, "You’re even hotter than I thought, Marsh. Think at this rate I’m really not going to leave you alone during this camp.”

 

“Good. You shouldn’t.”

Stan was slowly getting his breath back. Craig seemed to think that things were over now, but he couldn’t be more wrong. Stan didn’t forget the promise and demand he’d made at the beach, not even with an amazing high that he was coming down from. He wiped his hand on the sheet (he’d feel bad for the room service lady later) and took hold of Craig, pressing him against himself in a brief hug, before he pushed him to the side so he could be on top of him. Looking down into surprised, icy eyes (were they blue or grey? He couldn’t really tell), a tiny smile bloomed on Stan’s face. A mischievous one.

“Are you ready for me to try out in dick-sucking?”

 

Stan throning on top of him certainly was a sight to behold. There was a light sheen of sweat on his skin, making it shine a little. The mixture of come and lube on his lower abdomen was glistening in the nightstand lamp’s warm light. Craig full-on marveled at him, allowing himself to drink in the sight of one flushed Stan Marsh wearing the satisfied little smile of a guy who’d just come really good. If he thought back to that moment later on, he’d probably say that this had been when he’d decided, deep inside, that this guy needed to be _his_ in some form. At least for the rest of summer camp.

The question threw him off a little bit, he really hadn’t expected that, but it had him smirk up at Marsh in the end. Craig’s hands came up to land on Stan’s ass, fingers digging into supple skin as he grabbed him tightly and then pressed up his hips to underline just how ready he was.

“Extremely ready. You’ll have the easiest job of your life, Marsh.”

 

“Why, you gonna come no matter how badly I fuck up?” Stan could absolutely not help himself as he burst out laughing. He was sorry to destroy the heavy, sexy atmosphere, but Craig’s monotone voice didn’t make the matter any better. Not that Stan was laughing at Craig, at all. He was just suddenly realizing how shitty a blowjob this might be, considering he’d never put anything more dick-shaped than a banana in his mouth (and only when Kyle was looking which had varying results) and he was pretty sure Craig wouldn’t taste fruity and satisfying. Stan rattled himself back to reality, laughter dying down as quickly as it had come up. He had to shuffle himself backwards in order to draw level with Craig’s crotch and there it was; a hard, thick dick, waiting for him to embrace his gay side. Stan gulped a little and his mouth grew dry.

“Don’t laugh, dude. If you do, I’m out. I’ll go drown myself, I mean it.”

 

Craig propped himself up on his elbows, his eyebrows drawing together in a light frown.

“I’ve been there, in your exact position. I know what it’s like. I won’t laugh.” Marsh was still hesitating and after his little laughing fit now looked genuinely concerned. “Hey.” Craig said, softly and sat up more, one arm to stabilize him, the other hand came up to brush dark strands out of Stan’s forehead, “Just go slow. Take it in your hand at first.” When Stan did what had been suggested, a jolt of pleasure ran down Craig’s spine. Yep, he was very close already. This shouldn’t take long at all, regardless of how well or badly Marsh did.

“Y-yeah, like that. Just like before, think about what you’d like if someone was blowing you. That’s the key to most things gay.”

Craig’s hand was still on his head, but instead of forcing him anywhere, he just pet him gently, playing with dark hair, rubbing his neck. “Take all the time you want. Just so you know, I can’t wait though until you take my fucking dick in your pretty mouth.” Okay, maybe he was a bit of a talker.

 

It worked its magic on Stan too, because while Craig was talking vaguely dirty in a manner that was hellishly, blisteringly hot, he was also giving Stan options. Considering his method of flirting had been riling Stan up until they punched each other, this was a surprise. Stan kind of figured Craig Tucker to be the kind of guy who fed his dick into your throat and loved seeing your choke on it. It was a crass image and only belonged in Stan’s imagination, because the reality of this was that Craig seemed concerned with Stan’s experience and patient as a saint, his straining dick a weird, new sensation in Stan’s hands. But hey, he was here to live his bisexuality to the fullest, and it was better to learn now, with Craig, than say, embarrassing himself in front of any potential, first boyfriends with bouncing, red curls and a permanent frown.

To distract himself from the whole lump of anxiety that rose out of his stomach at that, Stan gave Craig’s dick a kiss on the tip. It didn’t feel gross, even though it was still slick with lube. It was warm and salty but firm against his lips and that wasn’t bad at all. Stan traced his tongue over the skin there, before vaguely realizing that Craig’s dick was slightly different after all.

“This doesn’t hurt if I pull, right?” he muttered.

 

Craig made an amused little noise, still watching Stan. “No, doesn’t hurt. Think I would’ve had to have it cut off if it did.”

This wasn’t really the right situation to share that one, Tweek had asked almost the exact same question, and two, that his mom was convinced her boy should be kept natural. It was something Craig hadn’t exactly been happy about, but he didn’t care by now.  It made for amusing situations like these where he was in bed with a guy who, in theory, should know what to do with a dick and yet didn’t because of something menial like foreskin.

“Just relax. You’ll make me come even if you just jerk it and look at me like that, seriously.” Craig’s voice wasn’t breaking per say, but it was definitely possible to hear the heavy arousal in its tone.

 

“I said I wanted to blow you and that’s what I’m gonna do, so shut up Tucker.” Stan shrugged Craig’s advice off like a particularly weak tackle and parted his lips. There was no way he was going to fit all of Craig’s dick into his mouth, but he was curious how just a little bit would feel. Even the head was a lot, for someone who never tried before. It was a bulky intrusion, resting heavily against his tongue. Stan summoned every memory of every gay porn he’d ever seen and hollowed his cheeks, giving the thick head a small, decent suck. Since he couldn’t ask anymore, he had to just look up to see Craig’s reaction. Hopefully, it would be enough for Stan to know if he was doing the right thing or not.

 

As he had mentioned to Stan before, it wouldn’t take much for Craig to come. He was pretty worked up from their earlier action, from seeing Stan’s amazing orgasm face and from having him now between his legs, trying with determination to suck his dick. Craig moaned and sucked in air through his grit teeth after. His grip on Stan’s hair tightened for a quick moment as pleasure shot through his whole body. It wasn’t just the fact that his dick was being sucked but the fact that it was Stan doing it. The guy’s blue eyes were on him, curious and questioning, but he still had those flushed cheeks and the messy hair and Craig hadn’t been lying when he said he could come just from a handjob, looking at him.

"Fuck, Marsh, you’re…” He leaned his head back and exhaled, trying to calm down to savour the moment, but Marsh did something with his tongue that made him moan again, a deep noise that came from his chest.

“If… if you don’t wanna s-swallow you better stop… right, nh-now. K-keep moving your hand though, jesus, fuck.”

 

It was more of a mouth-assisted handjob than anything else, but Stan was giving it his best shot. He pumped Craig harder, fully aware that he might just be tasting spunk any second, but some part of him (some nasty, new part) egged Stan on. His eyes were half-lidded again, his cheeks burning brightly, his hair a ragged, sweaty mess from Craig’s hands in it and the effort he was exerting. It must have been a great picture, because something hot hit the back of Stan’s throat and Craig’s cock was leaking onto his tongue. He sputtered a little, pulling back as he tried not to choke, but he put on a brave face and swallowed down the (not so pleasant) mouthful.  After a moment of just staring up at Craig with his eyes wide, he twisted his pretty face into a grimace.

“Dude, eat some pineapple next time.” Stan could hardly stop smiling though. He’d made Craig come, and that was a heck of a result for his first blowjob.

 

Craig was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly, mouth slightly open as he stared at Stan. Stan Marsh who had just swallowed like a champion, on his first blowjob. He could respect that, the guy really had meant it when he’d announced he wanted to suck his dick. Also, he looked fantastic with the expression in his eyes, the ruffled hair, his burning cheeks.Craig pet him and then ran a hand through his own hair that had ended up hanging messily into his forehead and was now being swept back again.

“... I just wanna fuck you right now, Marsh, you have no fucking idea. God.”

Craig let himself fall back onto the bed, the pleasant tingle from his recent high still running through him.

 

“Yeah, no, not doing that, Tucker.”

Stan crawled up to bully himself into the small space leftover on the bed, which meant he had to lay his head on Craig’s arm and shoulder. Not the most comfortable position, but also not the worst. Craig was a lot more meaty than the bony, wiry that Stan would usually snuggle up with (Super Best Friends had different ideas about personal space and such), but Stan didn’t mind.

“That wasn’t bad at all. I thought it would be really weird but...I kind of liked sucking your dick? Or maybe I liked making you come. Hah.”

 

“You’re very welcome to do it again, whenever, really.” Craig chuckled and turned to the side. Okay, maybe he wanted to make this more comfortable for Stan, but after ten minutes of laying around like that, just kind of enjoying each other’s presence close, things got uncomfortable. Half-asleep and only shaken awake again by Marsh’s attempts to somehow fit their bodies together better, Craig murmured, “Think you gotta sleep in your own bed, baby.”

 

Stan’s head turned just enough so that he could catch a glimpse of Craig, trying to see if he was picking up on that obnoxious habit that he’d had on their arrival, when he decided that messing with Stan was the best idea on the planet. But instead, he was just met with a sleepy Craig, his usually so effortless hair tousled and sweaty, his expression relaxed and almost soft. Stan’s heart made a very heavy thump and he swung his legs over the side of the bed to get up. He didn’t say anything either, not wanting to rip Craig from the grasp of sleep.

That he lay awake for another two hours, staring at the ceiling, didn’t really matter at all.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Breakfast was a weirdly quiet affair. Everyone seemed to be nursing hangovers and oatmeal, or simply ducking their heads to avoid Mason’s glare. He was angry at them, and it was palpable. He even relegated their training schedule to the other coaches, which was something that rarely happened at all. Mason was an aggressively-hands-on head coach, and it was only when he was too full of rage to deal with his heap of teenagers that he handed over the reins.

Stan didn’t mind. He’d slept great, and his head was clear and bright and full of Craig. They weren’t sitting together, of course, and they’d mutually agreed to continue their air of hostilities, but today, Stan simply couldn’t get over how genuine and nice and hot Craig had been with him, last night. If the guy could be like that, why was he an asshole the rest of the time?

 

Craig was currently shoveling oatmeal into his mouth. He wasn’t a morning person at all, but today he at least didn’t exert that aura of violence when people came too close to him, or worse, his food. That was probably due to Marsh and the pleasant memory of the things that had happened last night, but of course that couldn’t be shared. Not here, in any case, probably not ever.

Jake, who was sitting with Stan, Leroy, Tom and Zack, leaned over the table to ask conspiratorially into the round.

“What’s going on? Something happen? Heard coach is super pissed.”

 

Zack and Leroy exchanged a glance, then the latter looked at Stan. “You missed out, dude.” He said, sounding weirdly dreamy, “We spent half the night with the cheerleading team. It got pretty… wild.”

Zack snorted and nodded over at Craig’s table where Craig and his guys were devouring breakfast.

“Heard Clyde fucked one of them and Jason got a bj. The rest, well, make-out central. You really missed out, Marsh. Where the fuck were you?”

 

“You guys are kids.” Stan shook his head, slicing up the heap of pineapple he’d fetched from the buffet. He wasn’t going to eat it, no, he had a far better plan for this delicious fruit. Craig would get the not-too subtle hint, of course. Stan just needed to find the perfect moment for it, "I’m here to get better at football, not to catch crabs.” Not to mention that he a) was living out his bisexual fantasies b) never had a problem attracting girls.

 

“Oh man, Marsh, you suck, honestly. Did you study strats the entire night?” Zack faked a shiver, “Dude, I’m all for your game both on and off the field, but that sounds like it fucking sucks.”

Leroy agreed and both of them shrugged, Tom typed something on his phone and Jake stared at Stan’s fingers cutting the pineapple. Before Stan could say anything to that, the door to the breakfast room swung open and a large group of large young men came in that didn’t look particularly happy as they glared around. Led by a guy with a menacing expression, they piled into the room. The employees of the hotel around the buffet moved backwards as everyone in the room obviously noticed the hostile vibe rolling off of the entire group in waves. The two families that lived in the apartment next to Jimmy and Francis quickly got up and left the breakfast hall.

 

“Alright, which of you little highschool fuckers is Clyde?”

The room collectively turned its attention to Craig’s table, where Clyde, previously in a happy, blissful daze, slid deeper into his chair. It was a ridiculous attempt for any given sixteen year old, but even more so when Clyde’s bulk was considered. Menacing guy moved forward, knuckles cracking as he curled his hands into fists. He was sizing Clyde up, and his friends followed him as a unit. It didn’t take a lot to know that this was a team of some sort and they were about to beat the shit out of Clyde for...something. Probably, and Stan was going out on a limb here, something about college girls and bjs.

A quick look around showed the noticeable absence of any coaches and responsibility sprang up in Stan. He was the team captain. He couldn’t just watch whatever was going to happen, happen. He was out of his seat and in menacing guy’s path in an instant, blocking his approach, and blocking Clyde from view.

“You got a problem with Clyde, buddy?”

 

Menacing guy looked Stan up and down, but he didn’t move.

“Out of the way, baby face, or you’re gonna be up first. Who do you think you are?”

Behind Stan, Craig had gotten up as well, ready for a fight, particularly because it was morning and he hated mornings anyway, followed by Token and most of the team from around the room. Clyde sunk deeper into his seat.

Menacing guy leaned into Stan’s personal space, but before he could say something, he had Craig’s hand pushing him back roughly.

“Back off.”

Craig was ready to _fight_.

 

By the size and build of everyone here, this was probably the college football team that belonged to the cheerleaders from the night before. Stan wanted to sigh and point out that this type of shit was exactly why they shouldn’t be fucking around on their training trip as if it was a vacation (which made him sound a lot like Kyle, to be honest).

“Easy,”

Stan held his arm out and pushed Craig back just a little. By now, the rest of the team (including a Clyde suddenly half a foot shorter) had stood up and crowded into the open space in the middle of the room.

“What’s this about? Let me guess; your cheerleading squad?”

 

Stan’s calm way to deal with this seemed to be the silken thread the whole situation was dangling on. Between both teams, the tension was heavy in the air and the smallest of mistakes would end up in a big fight and probably a wrecked breakfast hall. Menacing guy looked like he had been about to launch himself at Craig, but Craig obeyed his captain (not without glaring at the guy though) and backed off and so, the other team’s leader (probably captain as well) focused on talking again. His team was right behind him, they had moved in when Craig intervened but they too were holding still right now.

“Yeah, what the fuck do you think you little shits are doing? I’m telling you what, you deliver us this Clyde guy…” He looked over and right at Clyde who ducked behind Token, “And I’m guessing that asshole there is him… Or we’re gonna mess you up so good you can all go home crying. You need to learn a lesson or two about playing with other people’s toys like that.”

There was agreeing murmur coming from the rest of his team.

  
  


“I’m sure your cheersquad deeply appreciates you calling them toys. It’s the twenty-first century, dude. Misogyny isn’t sexy.” Stan could practically hear Kyle’s warning all the way from Chicago. Taking a stand was a thing that, however, Stan could never quit. He’d just gotten better at picking his battles. Menace guy looked ready to sock him in the jaw, but he too hesitated to turn this into a mass brawl. Oh, and he was honestly waiting for an answer to his ridiculous demand. Stan had to think, quickly. He had maybe forty seconds before all of this turned into a hell-scape. Coach Mason would absolutely demolish him if he allowed the team to turn into a squad of wild dogs, ready to go head to head at the slightest provocation. Stan needed to control this situation.

“Why don’t we settle this on a pitch?”

 

Menacing guy’s face twisted and for a second, he looked ready to try and spring forward and knock Craig out of the way. His eyes moved around, assessing the way the team had assembled around Stan, the way a line had formed between them. A balefully glaring, defensive line. A grin bloomed on his face.

“You kids wanna play us? Are you serious? So you want all of your asses kicked, instead of giving up just one guy? That’s pretty ballsy, kid.”

 

He turned around to discuss with his team. Stan could feel a trickle of sweat run down his forehead. He knew how bad it could get if the college team was, in fact, aware of the fact they could probably flatten them in an all out fight without any measure of supervision. A game would at least be controlled by the rules they all lived by.

_ Take the bait. Take it. _

 

“Alright. You’re on. Got a name, kid?”

 

“Stan Marsh.”

 

“Good. Something to put on your tombstones. We’re gonna end you, all of you. Friday night. We’ll find somewhere to play.” Menacing guy didn’t offer his name, but he did hold out his hand, a triumphant grin on his face. Stan shook it for a brief moment.  When the deal was set and done, the other team left, laughing and throwing taunts their way, pulling faces and drawing their fingers across their necks, general bullshit like that.

 

Left in the breakfast hall was the entire team of the South Park Cows, silent, most of them staring at Stan. Nobody questioned that this had been the best decision, none of the team (except maybe Craig) had actually been out for a fight in here, especially not because at least half of the group here was at fault for the whole situation.  And even if it hadn’t been the best decision, Stan still was their captain and the quarterback, they were all used to him calling the shots and living by it.

Clyde stepped away from Token a little bit and dared to ask the question that all burned in their minds.

“How are we going to beat these guys? We don’t even play college football…”

 

All eyes wandered back to Stan, hoping for their most brilliant mind to have a strategy in place, some play to call that they could follow.

 

“...I gotta go. You guys get back to breakfast. I’ll see you at practice.”

Stan gathered up his things from the table, his appetite entirely gone. Once he left the lobby, he had to stop around a corner, after checking that no one had seen him. He sucked in a deep breath. Fuck. What had he gotten them into? They could...no, they couldn’t actually play against a college team. Even if they were maybe, remotely good enough (which they were not), they’d just get run down by superior players, superior plays and very angry, motivated men with a collective experience of football that trumped theirs easily.

He’d set his team up for failure and injury, that’s what Stan had done. That kind of shit was going to get him kicked off of the team for good, and there went his future career. Fuck. Fuck it all. He...he’d just come clean to coach Mason. He’d tell him, and Mason would sort it out. Somehow. That’s all he could hope for, even if Stan was not sure if he was ready to bear the personal consequences it would have for him. He couldn’t count on his status as favorite to pull him out of every bowl of hot water.

 

“Good decision, Marsh.”  Craig’s voice was as monotone as ever, but he was balancing Stan’s plate of pineapple on his hand and currently chewed on a slice,  “They would’ve fucked us up pretty bad. And summer camp would’ve been over because we had a part in destroying the hotel.”

He’d seen the guys and Craig knew college football players. One, they were simply more people because college teams had not just an offense and a defense and maybe some specialized and substitute guys, but they had whole other lineups for specialized situations, something that measly South Park High could not compete with. Two, they were older and therefore more scary opponents, even if the respective players weren’t much bigger than those of the Cows.

“We just need the coach to stop sulking and teach us college football. And you need to stop beating yourself up, it was the right fucking decision. As always. Pineapple?”

 

Stan was left speechless by the whole interruption. He hadn’t even seen Craig follow him, much less heard anyone approach his hiding spot of despair. But the level tone of his voice, lacking any sort of excitement, as usual, was oddly reassuring. It reminded  Stan of last night, but he pushed that aside quickly. He had to keep his shit together. He’d just landed his team in something potentially terrible, so he at least owed them a plan of attack.

He picked up one of the pieces he’d sliced himself, earlier, recalling what they’d been for.

“Coach is gonna chew me out for starting shit in the first place. I can’t tell him about last night being Clyde’s idea. He’s...he’d kick him off. Replace him with Gary, or something like that.”

 

“Just tell him we ran into some shit and this is the situation now, we gotta play them. That’s all he needs to know. Man up, Marsh, Mason will know you’re taking responsibility for us losers and that alone will get him back his boner for you.” Craig ate some more pineapple. Mornings were the worst, he really needed lots of food to compensate with the early time. What the fruit was originally intended for, he had no clue about however, “No need to tell him who came up with this bullshit.”

 

“You just wanna save your buddy’s ass. Man, why does Clyde always have to go nuts when there’s girls involved? You need to put a leash on him, Tucker.” Stan figured that Craig had a point. Coach would be pissy, but if Stan actually went and demonstrated leadership, Mason was gonna bust a nut.

“How did you know these were for you?”

 

Craig looked at the pineapple slices on the plate and stopped chewing. “I just grabbed them because you ran off. Can’t waste perfectly good food like that, Marsh.”

Why did Marsh cut fruit for him?Craig ate lots of fruit on a regular basis, so it wasn’t like he was lacking vitamins. Except if the pineapple itself was the key…When Craig looked at Marsh questioningly and the guy’s lips twitched as he tried to hide his grin, he finally remembered what Marsh had said the night before. It actually made him laugh. Briefly, he checked their surroundings, but nobody was in sight so he leaned in, close enough to brush his cheek against Marsh’s as he whispered to his ear.

“You really liked it that much, huh? I’ll eat three pineapples if it means you’ll blow me again tonight.”

 

“Maybe get a rain check on that until I figure out how we’re gonna mow down eleven giants.” Stan sighed unhappily, but Craig’s presence like this was tempting. Tempting to make him forget what else was going wrong in his life, and tempting to take advantage of. Stan pressed a quick, hard little kiss on Craig’s cheek, “I’m gonna go get chewed out. Take care of the idiots for me, and keep Clyde’s dick in his pants.”

-x-

As it turned out college football wasn’t so different after all. Sure, there was a distinction between NFL rules and those applied for the NCAA, but the South Park Cows were far from that level.

Nonetheless, the entire team was currently training hard. Mostly offensive and defensive plays since Mason had insisted on them getting better and offering him and Stan a wider variety of strategies to choose from. Speaking of, Mason had, after a long talk with Stan, finally agreed to helping them out. The Cows were his team after all and he too had been a dumb teenager at some point. Plus, he was actually rather happy about the fact that everyone was so determined. The camp had been kind of lackluster before, simply because the boys would rather like to go to the beach, meet girls or just hang around than play football under the burning Californian sun. Right now though, each and every player was giving it his all, trying to remember the moves and getting the calls right. Critique between the players didn’t result in fights, they actually took it and tried to take the advice instead of fighting among each other. To be fair, Mason couldn’t have wished for something better to happen.

During the break, he called Stan to the side.

“Good job. You’re the MVP, as usual. Keep your eyes open like that and you got these guys. I’ve looked around a little and they’re the team of the Santa Rosa Junior College. Their current roster seems… beatable. If you and the boys pull your A-game, Marsh.” Mason smiled at him and grabbed his padded shoulder, “They’re training at the other stadium at La Costa Canyon High School. I’d suggest you go and have a look after we’re done here. We got little to no footage of them playing.”

Well. That didn’t prove anything. The Santa Rosa squad could be terrible or average. If they were good, coach would have found something more helpful for Stan to study. Because he definitely needed to take this seriously. As seriously as any real game. Not because it mattered if they lost, but because Stan had issued the challenge. If they lost, pathetically, the team would lose its faith in him. And given as to how vaguely distant Stan had been for the entire week that they’d spent in California so far, that was dangerous. He needed to get his head back into the right space. Letting go and letting off steam with Craig was something from an entirely different world at this point.

Stan was ready to let football take over.

“I need Tucker with me. He’s got....a good eye for things that I miss.”

 

Mason’s impressive eyebrows wandered towards his hairline, but he didn’t say anything. The only thing he did was hand the keys of the car he’d rented to Stan and he also patted him on the back as he walked past him.

Craig was driving, Stan sat next to him, his notepad on his thigh as if he could already write down things. Carlsbad was a disaster, Craig was glad for his phone and Google maps at this rate. Marsh wasn’t particularly talkative, he looked to be in deep thought which was fine for Craig, too. When they got on the highway to get to La Costa Canyon High, he fumbled with the radio and turned up the music. They were both wearing sunglasses and Craig felt reminded of that time back in fourth grade when they’d played agents and detectives. Stan wasn’t much into leather these days, but the guy would probably look good in a nicely fit jacket or something…

Stan drummed his pen against his thigh as the music blared on. He could feel the constant sweat he was starting to develop dampen his hair yet again. God damn Cali weather. He missed Colorado fiercely if he stopped to think about it, so he didn’t. South Park might as well have been on Mars right now. Craig wasn’t talking, and that suited Stan fine. His feet were kicked up on the dash after some shuffling in his seat and he leaned over to search Craig’s jacket pocket for some cigarettes. He needed something to take the edge off. Otherwise he was gonna be jumping off of it.

“...Thanks for coming with me. I know how much you’re bummed about missing karaoke night for this.”

Stan smirked to himself as he successfully found and stole one of Craig’s cigarettes.

“Fucking love karaoke.” Craig said, voice even more deadpan than usual to underline just how much he regret not being there. In a side glance he saw Marsh light one of his cigarettes, “You’re a wreck, Marsh.” He said, but smirked to himself as he looked at the road ahead. Marsh didn’t have to know he couldn’t pay for his license so he didn’t have one. The family car was off limits anyway, so a license wouldn’t really help him out. That didn’t mean he couldn’t drive though.

They reached the stadium soon enough, home to the LCC Mavericks, currently occupied by the visiting SRJC Bear Cubs. Craig parked the car close to the entrance so in case he and Marsh had to make a quick exit, nothing except a little sprint would stand in their way.

“Alright, Detective Marsh…” Craig said theatrically, pushed the sunglasses up on his nose and pulled the hood of his loose jacket on, “Good to work together for once. Let’s get to it, I’ll cover your back.”

For a second, Stan was incredibly confused, not sure what game Craig was playing, but realization punched him in the gut very quickly and he had to smile.

“Stay low and out of sight, agent Tucker. We get caught, we’ll be sleeping with the fishes.”

Not that it was complicated to get in. The stadium (far, far fancier than anything SPH could ever dream of) was open to the public and clearly, the Cubs didn’t run a terribly private practice. Stan and Craig moved to sit behind some other, loose gathering of people there. The shorts and large hats didn’t suggest any one more involved than some interested locals, which was perfect. No one would recognize what Stan was doing here. He hunched forward, peering at the assorted team members, jogging around with their coaches instructing them loudly.

“They might be nobodies, but they’re walking brick walls.”

“Just work your magic, captain. Don’t worry about the brick walls, let that be my worry for now.” Craig said, leaning forward to position his elbows on his knees, eyes firmly trained on the group of young men training on the field.

What followed was two hours of practice, closely observed by both Cows players present. Marsh took a lot of notes in his wriggly handwriting. Sometimes, Craig would point out something specific, but most of the time he let Marsh and his strategic brain do all the work. When the Cubs were doing their cooldown stretches, they snuck out again where Craig could finally remove his hood. His hair was sweaty and stuck to his head, but with a sweep of his hand it fell back into place nicely.

“So, how’s the plan? Coming along?”

Stan was chewing the pen he’d brought. It was already a sorry remnant of itself, bearing teeth marks from one anxious team captain who may have bitten off too much to chew on for his entire squad.

“I don’t...have a plan yet. We’re not that good at speedy strats. We definitely can’t bull them aside. They have way more people than we do, so if anyone gets hurt, we can’t replace them either. This shit is really hard. We’re fucked.”

Stan had wracked his brain and thought of everything coach ever told him about finding a weakness, but he didn’t see much possibility here. The Cubs might not be great, but they had every advantage here. Not to mention that Menacing Guy was also their quarterback, and he was bound to be extra vicious if given the chance.

“Unless...”  Stan stopped walking. They weren’t out of the stadium just yet. From here, he could see where the locker room was bound to be.  “Tucker, how much do you trust me to make the right calls?”

The question was odd at this point, mainly because Craig thought the answer was clear.

Why was he even asking that?

“Coach thinks you’re some sort of football prodigy and to be fair, he’s not that far off. You know what to do. On a scale of zero to ten, ten is full trust… Ten. You’re my QB, Marsh, I gotta trust you. Ask your receivers. No, wait, don’t ask them, Jake has a boner for you.” Craig stopped walking because Marsh had stopped. The guy seemed to have some sort of idea and Craig was patiently waiting for him to share.

 

“Something vaguely unethical and maybe illegal, not sure. But I know if I can just get a look at what they usually play, I’ll be able to prep some sort of plan to deal with it.” So, essentially, sneak into the locker room, hope the coaches left the whiteboard in there (if there was one at all) and just see what sort of plays the Cubs preferred. Stan wouldn’t usually sink to this, if his entire team getting whooped wasn’t on the line here.

“If this works I will definitely suck your dick for coming with me.”

At this rate, Craig would’ve come with him anyway, but he didn’t say no to the sweet promise of pleasure once offered to him.

“Alright. You go ahead, I’ll stay outside to check if anyone’s coming over. Go.”

He watched Stan disappear into the locker room. They only had a few minutes for this, at most.

Twenty seconds had passed when suddenly, voices could be heard, but from the path where they had come from! Apparently, the stadium had several ways for players to reach the locker rooms. Good for them, bad for Craig who saw no other option than to disappear into the locker room as well.

“Marsh!” He hissed, “We gotta hide, come on.”

Marsh continued scribbling down things from the whiteboard until Craig bodily pulled him with him. Luckily, there was one door unlocked leading to what looked like a really small closet for cleaning equipment. Craig closed the door behind them just in time when the door to the locker room opened. Marsh was pressed against him, there really wasn’t much space at all, but at least they were out of sight.

The closet was more like a glorified locker that could handle a couple of mops, but it was their saving grace nonetheless. Craig was pressed against Stan everywhere, and it was deeply uncomfortable, but nothing was worse than the gathering of college football players right outside. They just kept on coming, filling the entire space.

Stan could do nothing but stare at Craig’s face, which was crammed against his at an awkward angle, his nose digging into Stan’s cheek. Beyond their uncomfortable, heated and tight hiding place, dozens of Cubs were getting changed, chatting idly, laughing and being entirely slow about the whole process. Maybe there was something ironic about being locked in a closet with Craig, but Stan couldn’t think about that right now. The Cubs were all in varying degrees of undress when their coach walked in, which caused an immediate hush as they gathered around.

“This is it,” Stan hissed, very quietly, into Craig’s ear. If the coach was aware of the Cubs’ unofficial, little game, surely he would discuss it with his team.

Craig remained silent, though his eyes were on Stan. He listened closely to the muffled voice of the other team’s coach.  It wasn’t easy to understand, but once he and Stan breathed shallowly and their ears had gotten adjusted to the volume, they could listen in.

 

“--school boys, are you kidding me? You know what this is all about. They’re a goddamn high school football team. High school teams are either complete shit or they’re fortunate enough to have some talent in their tiny town in nowhere. That talent is usually playing one role, and one role only. Take down their QB and you got the game. Nothing more I should need to tell you.” There was overall approval and the Cubs continued to get changed. The coach moved over to Menacing Guy.

“Johnson, you won’t be playing next game in the league. Your performance has been weak last match and now you’ve started shit with a high school team. If you should lose this game however, you’re out entirely. You know Hunter is just waiting in line behind you for his turn.”

Craig’s expression had turned from neutral to pissed over the time of the coach’s little speech. He looked ready to burst out there and take them all on. What kind of bullshit ‘strategy’ was this? Take out Stan? They couldn’t talk, not now and Craig couldn’t really move, but what he could do was lean in and press his forehead against Stan’s. Defending him was Craig’s main job and Stan could trust in him entirely.

 

Stan was surprised at best, but not necessarily scared. Maybe he should be. He wasn’t smart enough for it, though. If a team needed to resort to tactics that were so entirely practical and not at all about skillful exchanges and playmaking...that meant there wasn’t much there to begin with. Against Craig’s face like this, Stan smirked, confidently. Take him out? They were welcome to try. If that was all they could think of doing, the Cows had this one in the bag. Sudden confidence had Stan press himself closer to Craig, leaning up to his ear.

“They have jack shit. They don’t know anything about us. We’re gonna kill these losers.”

Stan’s sudden confidence was downright hot. A smirk of his own tugged on Craig’s lips as he pressed them against the other guy’s cheek firmly. They had played together long enough for Craig to know that Stan was the key to victory. The guy was ridiculously talented when it came to football, both concerning physical and mental abilities. The only thing he lacked sometimes was self-confidence, especially when he’d had a few bad days leading up to the game. Nobody on the team spoke about it, but everyone knew that whenever Wendy had broken up with Stan in the past years, they had lost games.

The Cows stood and fell with their rising star quarterback.

And Craig would do his job and protect the hell out of him, at least for a few miraculous seconds in which Stan’s mind and skill could do its magic.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short one

On the way back home, Stan was on fire about strategies. Sure, Craig knew all of the plays as well, but the speed in which he contemplated them and then discarded them was something he couldn’t quite keep up with.

Stan was still talking when Craig ordered KFC via drive thru. He didn’t even shut up when his mouth was full with chicken, but Craig let him. It was important to keep the guy in good spirits and KFC and someone listening to his ideas seemed to make him extraordinarily happy right now.

Chicken and football strategies were two of Stan’s three favorite things, but Chicago was an awful, long way to go for his happiness. So he’d make do. Besides, Craig was just as good a silent listener as Kyle, and maybe some of what he was saying wasn’t going to waste entirely. He didn’t really notice until he fell quiet. They were driving a lot longer than they had on their way to the stadium.

“...Are we lost?”

 

Craig waved his phone, eyes on the road. The screen was black.

“Kinda. Going the right direction now though. Hold on, I want some of these.”

Without waiting for any kind of reaction from Stan, Craig pulled over at a roadside booth that sold strawberries. He fucking loved strawberries.

Stan said something, but Craig was already out of the car and walked the ten foot over to the old woman selling ‘Happy Berries’. While she was wrapping a whole basket full of fresh, deliciously smelling strawberries that had Craig’s mouth water even though he’d just had KFC, she looked over to the car and smiled when she saw Stan. Craig handed over the money, but when she gave him the basket in return, she beamed at him and spoke.

“You and your boyfriend should go see the sunset. These berries make the happiest when you’re sharing them with a loved one. Have a good day, son.”

Craig was baffled and he was glad that Stan wasn’t out here to hear his murmured little ‘Thanks, will do’ before he returned to the car.

The basket was placed on Stan’s thighs.

“Hold this. Don’t eat any.”

 

A few miles further, Craig pulled over into a small parking lot just at the cliffside. The old woman was right, sunset was near and the sky looked absolutely beautiful. There were even some stars twinkling above them already while the sinking sun coloured everything in warm orange and red.

“Come on.” He said to a perplexed Stan and reached for the basket, before he left the car and went to sit on the railing.

 

Stan had definitely eaten some strawberries and if Craig had a problem with it, he could suck it. Why were they making a big detour, anyway? When they pulled up on some kind of cliff (more of a hill, to be honest, California did not know how to do landscape) Stan narrowly avoided a stifled sort of bout of laughter. What was Craig playing at? Was he still riding the high of their mutual discovery? That had been just last night, but it felt like a life-time ago.  He clambered over the railing, only far enough so he could slump down next to Craig. He squinted at the sunset, before digging into Craig’s pocket for his smokes. He doubted he’d be getting strawberries.

“Why do we keep ending up in these cliche ass romantic situations, Tucker?”

 

“Because you’re hanging out with me and while I like you sucking my dick, I like this. I’m a deeply romantic guy.”

Spoken in his usual monotone, it wasn’t quite clear if he meant it as a joke or if he didn’t. Craig didn’t elaborate on it either, he just popped a strawberry into his mouth and heartily bit into it. They were as delicious as they looked and smelled. Eyes on the fiery horizon, Craig made a pleased little noise in his chest. Marsh could laugh or not, but he really meant it. Craig was a total sucker for romance, it was just that he had his own way of doing romantic things. Romance with Marsh was this, but was also beating each other up in the showers. They still both had the bruises for proof.

Tweek liked being romanced, but that was probably because he hadn’t experienced anything else. Maybe it was odd for Marsh, maybe he was the kinda guy to think romance was expected from him and not given to him. Or maybe he liked being romanced, but Craig was just not the right kind of person to do that for him. The thought, oddly, made something in him hurt and he quickly ate another strawberry to make the feeling go away.

“Huh.”

 

In lieu of strawberries, which he wasn’t being offered, Stan sucked on the cigarette instead. Craig was giving him access to more bad habits, but neither of them were going to point it out. It didn’t matter. Stan was hardly going to fall out of shape thanks to a little nicotine.

“You’re good at it. I didn’t really notice before.” A moment of silence passed. Stan thought about how he’d spent the day, and realized that he’d been entirely wrapped up with the college team (with good reason) and hadn’t thought about...last night. When he and Craig had been closer than ever before. Stan remembered that his pulse could race.

“But I’m not who you want to be here with, right?”

 

Craig stopped chewing. 

His world came to a sudden halt at the question. The strawberry didn’t taste so great anymore, the refreshing breeze was suddenly cold. He didn’t want to talk about it, but realized he hadn’t ever and wouldn’t ever, if he didn’t do it right now. Even if it was uncomfortable, perhaps it would be better if he finally confessed to the truth out loud. Marsh, with his question, had already popped the perfect bubble the summer camp had been so far. It didn’t matter if he admitted to it now. Marsh had already proven that he could be trusted.

“Nothing against you, Marsh, but I’m in love. Have been for a long time, just too much of an idiot to see it. Too late now.”

 

That was sobering and disheartening in one. Sure, Stan had the vague suspicion that he knew exactly where Craig got all of his experience with guys, but that didn’t mean he could have guessed that he was actually in love with Tweek. His ex-boyfriend. 

“How do you know?”

It was questioning of both statements. How could Craig be so sure of it? That he really was in love with Tweek, and that he’d lost the chance to be with him. Stan didn’t specify. It was...painful. Somehow. As if he knew exactly what Craig was going through. Kyle was practically under Stan’s skin, but he pushed the thought away. He did _not_ know what it felt like to have love slip through your fingers. He’d never dated Kyle. He couldn’t replace what he’d never had. So, you know, Craig was a step ahead of him there. Stan brushed their elbows together gently. He couldn’t often sympathise with Craig Tucker, but right now, they were practically the same person.

 

Craig shrugged, but he made sure to keep their elbows together. Somehow, the feeling of it, the fact that Marsh was here, grounded him.  He wasn’t a big feelings-guy. Hell, he had taken forever to figure out why breaking up with Tweek had felt wrong. Not because he had been used to the guy, no, because now he definitely wasn’t used to him anymore and still, every time he saw the messy blond mop of hair somewhere, all of his senses zeroed in on Tweek.

It was something that he couldn’t really describe, a feeling that was more than words. But Marsh had asked him and he was supposed to say something here. Marsh sounded like he really had no idea and that was odd, given that he’d had a long-term someone, too. Sure, with some breaks, but maybe there was more to the guy than met the eye straight up…

“I know because I miss him even though he isn’t mine anymore. I miss him even if he’s right there. As long as he’s not in my arms and tells me he loves me, I miss him. It’s like a hole right in the heart, exactly how they always say it in movies. If you have one of these yourself, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

 

“Why would you think that I do?” Nope, nope, no. Stan didn’t want to hear any of this. He didn’t want to deal with the emotional vomit rising up in his throat. Kyle. Stan gulped, hard, sucking in so much smoke he retched.

“I don’t think I was ever that in love with Wendy.”

Better to keep Craig in the dark. The guy didn’t need to know _all_ of Stan’s secrets. There had to be some limitation to this summer camp thing. No strings experimentation, was that it? Yes. That’s what they were supposed to do, but Craig had to go and get all sad like that. Stan hooked their arms together.

 

The motion on his arm drew Craig out of his musings and instead made him turn and focus on Marsh. Even if he hadn’t said anything, he was right. They were here, the two of them, in the summer camp bubble. Even if Marsh didn’t understand what it felt like to be in lost love, he probably had his own problems back in South Park that he could escape here. Craig took the cigarette from him and pushed the basket of strawberries onto his chest. He greedily inhaled blue smoke, filling his lungs and closing his eyes before he finally breathed out.

“Smoking isn’t good for you, prodigy. You should quit.”

 

“I don’t smoke.”

Stan was glad his show of solidarity hadn’t been rebuffed, and he popped a strawberry into his ashy mouth to prove to Craig that he was accepting of their arrangement here. They were sharing romantic bullshit with each other, telling secrets that should be kept quiet, and yet, it was comfortable. Stan was close enough that their legs were pressing together, and he kept Craig close via their linked arms.

“Hey, Tucker? For what it’s worth, I think you were probably the best boyfriend Tweek is ever going to have. So, you know,” another strawberry disappeared into his mouth, “it’s his loss. He should get you back, if he knows what’s good. Someone else might not be so quick to drop you.”

 

Craig was about to rise to Tweek’s defense because well, it hadn’t been his idea to break up in order to see how the female side of the population felt in full-body contact.  But then he looked at Marsh and saw that the guy really actually meant it, for his sake, to make him feel better and Craig accepted it.  Even smiled about it to himself.  He nudged his leg against Stan’s.

“Someone else, huh?”

Somehow, that made their bubble whole again. Some playful banter, some shared touches, some perfect snaps between them. Summer camp was still on for two weeks. They still had time to explore whatever this was, no strings attached, no consequences.

 

“Yeah. Sometimes, you just need to forget about the world. With someone else.” Stan knew, vaguely, what he was implying, and he was surprisingly okay with it. Craig was a deep water, but Stan knew how to swim in it now. The bubble that surrounded them was still intact, despite the heavy truth of Craig’s confession. Stan could understand him, sort of. He too knew that some hopes and dreams were impossible, and it was better to accept the truth and try to soothe the pain than dream yourself into a raw, emotional crisis. 

“If we beat those college idiots, we should celebrate. Our own way.”

 

Craig eyed him from the side, a smile playing along his lips.

“I’ll keep you to that promise, Marsh.”

 

"I didn't actually say anything about a promise."

 

Craig chuckled, a weird little sound amplified through his nose.


	11. Chapter 11

The ranks in the stadium were surprisingly full for an unofficial game between some high school team and some college team, but then again, they were probably all here to see slaughter. Both teams were ready to go, the starting crews of both Cows and Cubs equally geared and ready. The referees were the local school’s, Mason had organised them from somewhere.

The team captains met for the coin flip and Johnson grinned, sure of his victory. Stan didn’t let his face betray him, but it felt good to be confident in the face of such arrogance. Johnson and his entire team of less-than mediocre college idiots were about to be met with a surprise. Stan had never prepared so eagerly for a game. Everything was on the line for him here. His reputation in front of his team chief among his concerns. They were counting on him now.

The crowd was a secondary concern. They seemed eager to see some sort of slaughter, here. Most of them were already drunk, and heavily applauding the cheerleader’s efforts. The Cows, unfortunately, only had Jimmy in terms of support, and he certainly wasn’t going to throw on a skimpy skirt and do flips. Although that would definitely be entertaining.

 

“You ready to die, kid?” Johnson smirked as the coin flipped through the air, “heads.”

 

Stan watched it patiently. He had strategies prepared either way.

“Got a question for you, man,” the silver quarter landed. It was tails. Stan smiled, vaguely. It seemed that it would be his day after all.

“How’s it feel, knowing you’re about to get creamed by a highschool team?”

 

Johnson’s mouth twitched in annoyance, but only briefly, before he apparently reigned himself in. That apparently had only counted for the coin flip though because he glared at Stan for the cheeky question and then laughed.

“Dream on, baby face. You’re gonna get crushed. I’ll tell you what, if you’re so confident, why aren’t we making a little deal here? Playing for more than just honor, how’s that?” He seemed to be pretty confident himself, nodding over to the cheer squad, “You virgins wanna get your little wieners wet, huh? Tell you what, if you guys win, you’ll get the whole squad for a night on the party boat down at the harbor.” Johnson smirked, his dark gaze on Stan, drinking in his every movement, feasting on what he thought was anxious fear.

“If you lose, you’re gonna give the girls a free evening and you and your toddler group put on their outfits and cheer nicely for us.”

 

Oh shit. Johnson wanted to play with that kind of fire, huh? Stan thought about it, even glancing back at his team. He had yet to put his helmet on, but there was no doubt that they wouldn’t back out of this game.  Could he risk his entire team? If they won, everyone would adore him. But if Stan was even slightly wrong, if he made one bad call, they were all in for it. Then again, he could think of worse things that putting on a tiny skirt and pretending to cheerlead. His team would kill him for it, of course, but it wasn’t a death sentence in the literal sense. Stan could think of _much_ worse punishments. Maybe growing up with Eric Cartman had its benefits.

“I sure hope you’re dating one of the girls. So that I know who wants the creampie. Receive.” Stan smirked and pulled his helmet on. Hey, he didn’t have to be diplomatic all the time.

 

Johnson looked ready to jump him, he even made a little movement, but then decided differently and jammed his own helmet on.

“You’re going down, Marsh.”

 -x-

There was blood running from a gash on his chin, but Craig felt no pain. He had lost count of how many minutes had passed (that wasn’t only due to the quarters being three minutes longer than usual), the only thing that mattered were Stan’s calls, the fact that they were on their third down and that the Cubs had been relentless at trying to get through to him. The Cows were up four points and that only seemed to spurn on their enemies who, during halftime earlier, had changed something in their strategy, something that Craig couldn’t quite pinpoint just yet.

Stan’s call was one of their safer ones, they were up and not desperate to score. They left the brief huddle and got into position, Zack and Miguel to his left and right, as per usual. Out of the corner of his eye, Craig noticed some motion the opposing middle linebacker made, some small wave of his hand that was over so quickly, he almost doubted having seen it.

That was until he saw the Cubs’ defensive line shift, their eyes wandered not to their direct opponents on the other team, but to a certain player behind the Cows’ offensive line.  
Craig remembered their little espionage mission and understood what this was going at. Stan hadn’t seen the movement, he couldn’t have, not when it was just a tiny wave of hand and their linebackers were still in position as if nothing was going to happen. It wasn’t like they had never been blitzed before, but this time, Craig knew what they were aiming at. Not just to get to Stan and make him miss his timing or fumble, but to actually hurt him, take him out of the game entirely.

Stan got into position behind him, but before he could get ready to call him to snap, Craig said, audibly.

“Quick Ace fourty-five.”

That was sure to inform his quarterback and the rest of the team about the very last change to the play. Craig knew Stan trusted in him to make the right calls if he noticed something was up. On Stan’s note, Craig snapped him the ball only to sprint forward at full force, crashing into the guy in front of him, effectively taking him down without falling himself.

 

Stan didn’t need to relay what he’d heard. It was important only for him. Craig’s warning had come at the very last second, right before the snap and there was little to no time for adjustments, or to call a new play. As soon as the ball was clutched in his hands, Stan was in another world entirely. His teammates were nothing but crosses on the abused paper of his notepad, the enemy team circles that shifted around. Towards him. He knew exactly what kind of play Craig had called. A blitz, designed to decimate the Cows’ only QB. Stan saw them from every angle, eyes darting from side to side. Bodies were crashing into each other left and right, the attack met by a staunch defense. Craig before him felled another frontal attacker and Stan stayed behind him as he figured out a path for himself. He knew his guys would be under the college players, mostly, but that didn’t mean that they’d just roll over.

Stan was going to have to get himself out of this hotbox of a situation. There! A flank broke through. Stan just barely ducked out of the way, rolling off of the charging bull of a guy. It sent said attacker sprawling into his own teammate, but it also opened up the defense around Stan.

Craig would have to tell Julien a thing or two about keeping formation later on, but right now, there was a gaping hole in their defense and their respective tackle busy elsewhere. The Cubs were still gunning at Stan, everything happened so fast that he still hadn’t passed the ball yet, Jake and Token on their way to offer Stan a position to throw to. Craig made a decision that wasn’t necessarily good or something they had trained, but Stan was the key to victory here. His guy was still down and someone needed to close the hole in the defense and block the guy that was suddenly charging at Stan. 

Craig took three steps and then jumped forward, pure force thrown at the guy to deter him from Stan so he could finally get a good pass in. He crashed into the Cubs’ defensive tackle who somehow managed to wedge his elbow into his face despite the helmet. Something audibly cracked and his face hurt, but the other guy went down, together with the Cows’ Center.

 

There was a moment of deep concern that Stan had to shove away immediately, even though he heard a crack that was definitely not good news. It practically echoed around his head, but this was football; people got hurt. Finally, he saw the clear path to Token. Taking two steps back, he launched the ball, watching it soar over the heads of the Cubs and land safely in Token’s arms. There were still opponents all around him, and he could see them close in on Token, hard and fast. Stan had to dodge and weave himself to freedom as he set off running. He wasn’t the fastest on the team, nor the strongest, but he was flexible and observant and hell, predicting enemy movement was his main task. Token was bogged down by four guys, but he caught Stan’s position.

The pass was almost too sharp, but Stan managed anyway. There was no time to check if he was clear, but something torpedoed past his shoulder and barrelled into the Cubs that had been ready to launch themselves at him. Someone grabbed him, but Stan tore loose, running like hell was on his heels. They caught him, but far too late. The touchdown was clear, no matter how many bodies had piled on top of the Cows’ quarterback.

Stan groaned as the pile shuffled. It had knocked the breath from his lungs and every part of him ached, but nothing was twisted or broken, so the Cubs’ plan had not succeeded. Everything was going as he predicted, and the Cubs would get what they deserved. 

 

About thirty minutes later the game was over, the Cows triumphant with a roaring 54 to 35 over the Cubs. Stan’s last throw had been picturesque if anything, straight from the handbook, so to say and Token had made use of the fastest feet on the team and brought the unnecessary, yet victorious touchdown home. After he’d been briefly jumped at by Jake and Clyde, all three of them ran over in order to join their other teammembers in piling on Stan, the guy that had arguably won them the whole thing. From everywhere, guys were grabbing onto Stan, praising him for his good calls and great throws.

“Screw Brady, dude, you’re gonna be the next Manning!” Token had his arm around Stan’s neck and ruffled his hair, grinning widely. Jake was right in front of him, beaming. “Stan, you said we’d do it and we fucking did it!”

Clyde couldn’t believe his luck, his eyes were tearing up in utter happiness at the prospect of what kind of party was going down tonight. Stan had informed them about the little deal between the team captains and the fact that they’d get to party with a group of college cheerleaders was just the cherry on top for everyone involved.

 

Craig had, of course, been piling himself on top as well, but he felt kind of woozy, his vision swimming now and then. Lots of blood was coming out of his nose, colouring the white shirt over his equipment red. Not that he was the only one, but it kinda did keep him from partying too hard just now. He just needed to sit down somewhere, really, maybe have a look at his nose. He had it in him though to flip off the other team as they left the field, they so had it coming. The others moved forward as a group, Stan in the middle of them, being rightfully hyped as the MVP of the game, yet again. Craig caught a glimpse of Stan’s face when someone had pulled off his helmet, all dirty and sweaty boy but smiling broadly. It tugged on his own lips to see that as he followed the guys to the locker room.

 

It was a victory procession. Between Clyde’s grateful sobbing and everyone’s pat on the back for Stan, he could hardly hear himself think. He certainly couldn’t feel all the new aches and bruises with adrenaline rushing around in him. The cheers of his team were some of Stan’s favourite sounds in the world. Their approval was important, because it was genuine. They didn’t praise Stan for being handsome or popular. They praised him as equals, as people that understood when he’d actually done something extraordinary.

“Guys, guys it was a team effort. Couldn’t do it without all of you,” Stan put his helmet down and searched the crowd for his Center. Craig just seemed to be everywhere he needed to be in that game, and Stan had certainly noticed. When he found him, however, a frown creased the happy expression on his face.

“Tucker, your nose...”

Craig had just pulled off his helmet and his usually so perfect nose looked particularly crumpled.

“Fuck, we need a medic!”

 

“It’s nothin’.” Craig said, sounding even more nasal than usual. He spat blood on the floor and wiped his lips. He hadn’t actually looked in the mirror, but he could guess by the worry on Stan’s face that he actually looked real messed up. “You guys just go showe--”

  
“Tucker, over here, now!”

Mason had entered the room and, as usual, his first concern was towards the injured players. The guy seemed to have a sixth sense for guys with something broken because he’d picked out Craig straight away. Rolling his eyes, Craig got up, only because coach would not let victory celebrations happen before injuries were tended to.

“Fine.”

 

-x-

 

Turned out Craig’s nose was broken and one of the assistant coaches, James, got him to a doctor nearby who corrected it slightly (that fucking hurt) and put a splint on it (hurt as well, but not as bad). Only then Craig was allowed to go back. James did him the favour of getting him to the harbor straight away. The coaches of course knew what was up and it seemed like Mason was allowing them this, for once. They would sure as hell have extra hard training during the last ten days, but at least they'd be allowed their celebration.

The pier was illuminated with fairy lights and one of the boats had people on. It looked like the cheersquad really had come here (though Craig was slightly surprised they even agreed to play along with their team’s shenanigans) and everyone was having a good time. Craig received some pats on the shoulder and some hair ruffles. He found Token nursing a drink and elbowed the guy in the side. His friend looked at him and grinned, pointing at his own nose. “

You got pretty demolished, dude.”

Craig shrugged. Token was probably aiming for that number one place on the hottie list. No way. No one could care less than him.

“Doc said it’s gonna heal well, so dream on, buddy.”

“Won’t look the same. We’ll see if the girls still lust after the ground you walk on when we get back.” Token grinned and patted Craig on the shoulder. He didn’t doubt that Craig would still be number one. And to be perfectly honest, Token didn’t really care about the list at all. As long as he could remember, he’d been in love with Nicole. And she, although she took pride in her boyfriend’s ranking, never gave him reason to think he wasn’t attractive. Much the opposite. Other people, like Stan, needed that kind of attention. Token did not.

Speaking of Stan, the star of the hour had spotted Craig’s arrival and made his way over. He had a drink in hand that he’d been nursing since the team had gotten to the harbor. He didn’t want to be drunk, though he certainly deserved a night of completely letting go.

“Hey, there’s the best Center in Colorado,” he greeted, eagerly and Token suppressed a grin. If there was one thing that this whole football retreat had accomplished was the bridge built between Stan and Craig. Or rather, the resolution of the tension that drove the two of them together like magnets. Jimmy had a betting pool going that things were more than just friendly between them now, but Token had ten bucks riding against that.

“Where’s Tiffany, Stan?” he asked mirthfully, only to get a grimace from his QB.

“Hot tub. Clyde adopted her into his harem. I didn’t know tight-ends were _that_ popular.”

“They are.” Craig said, face deadpan, voice his usual monotone, “Just not usually with the girls.”

 

At that, Token shook his head repeatedly and raised both hands in defeat, “You know what, dude, I’m out. I don’t actually think I want to know why you were so adamant on him playing that position back then. Stan, good luck enduring the back-in-the-closet gay.”

Craig snorted, he was definitely in a good mood. Token knew, or thought he knew, that Craig could make jokes like that without actually being gay after all. Well, turned out the joke was on him in a way because here was Stan and just looking at him, dark hair slightly messy, his lips slightly red (surely from an earlier getting-to-know-each-other with Tiffany), made Craig’s blood interested in pooling somewhere south. He watched Token discard his probably stale drink and get a new one where he was promptly chatted up by another girl. Craig’s focus shifted on Stan who still looked entirely fuckable and wandered to the drink in his hand.

“Sweet. Girls got that?” They weren’t allowed to drink and hence couldn’t buy alcohol, but apparently the cheersquad came with a serving of booze on the side. Nice. Except the doctor had told him specifically he wasn’t allowed to drink, not if he wanted the pain killers currently coursing through his bloodstream to be effective. And yeah, Craig actually wanted the pain in his face to stay away. It was like having smoked half a joint, really.

 

“Yeah, the girls came with a keg and punch and everything,” Stan grinned at that. He’d thought to say something about Craig’s nose and the admirable way he’d done his job on the field earlier, but he thought better of it. Craig knew that he’d contributed to the victory. He didn’t need Stan to fuss over him, either. The joke at Clyde’s expense had Stan chortle, uncontrollably, though he tried to staunch that by taking a deeper sip of his drink. 

This was the perfect night. Both of them could part as amiable acquaintances, if not friends. They could each go their separate ways and enjoy the victory as they were supposed to. Stan had promised Tiffany’s friends to do his first body shots in their company, and the way he remembered their faces and giggles, it was a promising activity. It was a great night to remember how bi and single he was. A little mingle had been missing from his life, apart from his exploration stuff with Craig. But that, they could do any time. Tonight, the cheersquad was more or less eager to spend time with them and teach them all the advantages of older women.

“So, if you need to, put a sandal or sock or something on the door, kay roomie? I don’t really wanna walk in on anything, even if I’m gonna be fucking wasted in an hour.”

 

Craig raised his eyebrows.

“I don’t take girls to my bed, Marsh. They’re usually eager to share their own with me.” And that was true. All five of the girls he’d slept with so far had been entirely invested in getting him in their respective beds as fast as possible.

Marsh seemed very eager to score with the girls and yeah, he was probably right about that. Except that Craig had absolutely no interest in them. Sure, they looked great and whatnot and Craig would definitely make out with some of them if only to prove a point, but he was quite sure what would get his dick hard tonight had broad shoulders, a throwing arm to die for and ocean blue eyes to drown in.

“You can have the room. I don’t care if I walk in on anything.”

 

“You’re probably looking forward to it,” Stan shrugged and began to turn away from Craig. The odd, hollow pit in his stomach was disappointment, but he wasn’t quite sure where it had come from, or why it existed at all. Did he want Craig to fight him over the room? Did he want Craig to fight him over hooking up with a girl instead of _him_? Stan shoved the thought right out of his head and downed the rest of his drink. Nope. No thinking tonight. Drinking and partying, no moping or regretting.

“See you on the other side, Tucker.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) let's get real nsfw folks.

The party got crazy really soon. Most of the attending young people were drunk or high, Clyde’s jacuzzi turned into a topless-only zone really quickly and as the clock went on, that zone extended to the whole boat. 

Some girl Craig had made out with had rid him off his shirt, but he did vehemently refuse body shots - something the other guys revelled in. Especially Stan. The guy was just a chick magnet, there was always some lady on him, especially after he’d gotten rid off his shirt as well. Marsh’s easy-going, outer appearance seemed to work wonders. Craig was sure that if he’d wanted to he could’ve scored nearly all of Clyde’s harem as well, but Marsh wasn’t just hot, he was also nice and girls dig nice.

Sure, they also liked bad boys and Craig, even shirtless, broken-nosed Craig, got a lot of attention. Between the fourth and fifth girl in his lap to make out with, he’d lost sight of Marsh, something he kind of regretted. The party got boring shortly after and Craig tried to convince himself it totally wasn’t because he couldn’t secretly look at Marsh’s half-naked, bruised body. It was around midnight when Craig left the party (which was still in full swing), and decided to go nap instead. Token had caught him again, but Craig had said something about his pain meds and Token had shot him a pity face for which he’d gotten Craig’s middle finger and rightfully so.

He trudged back to the apartment he shared with Stan, he really needed some Ibuprofen or something, his face was starting to hurt again.

In front of the door, he already heard giggling from inside and Marsh’s voice and somehow, that piqued his interest. There was no sock on the door and he’d announced earlier he had no issue with walking in on him.  Which was what he did, a weird mixture of blatant curiosity as well as something nasty, little and cold that he didn’t want to interpret any further curling  in his belly.

 

Between Christina’s giggling and the music blaring from his phone, a very drunk Stan was entirely dedicated to making the beautiful redhead he’d picked out feel great, and very much failed to notice the intrusion. He’d lost his shirt long ago, probably on the boat, and the rest of him was only covered by a single pair of long shorts that were beginning to slip over his hips. Christina’s fingers were hooked in and tugging, but she was rendered somewhat immobile by Stan’s eager ministrations to her chest. Christina did notice Craig, but she winked at him and continued pulling Stan’s shorts over his ass as well as she could what with two hundred pounds of quarterback on top of her.

 

Craig shrugged at her and went for the bathroom to take his ibuprofen and wash the parts of his face that were washable. Marsh seemed to enjoy his bisexuality to the fullest, something that Craig didn’t envy, because he sure as hell didn’t want to be in Stan’s position right now. No, the urge he felt was of an entirely different nature. It was much like fighting Stan, if he was honest to himself. Fighting Stan was about both of them riled up, excited really, aroused in some way, and messing each other up, as equal opponents until one of them (Craig) came out on top. Knowing Stan was busy fucking someone else in the next room was like knowing Stan was fighting someone else besides him, something that made Craig jealous, but smug at the same time. Marsh would find out that he could easily best other opponents, the fight ending without much of a thrill, simply because everyone else but Craig would just bow down to him and take it. His feet took him back out of the bathroom, towards the chair near the apartment entrance.

Stan was fully naked now, Christina must have been on top of Stan at some point, because she was now on her back the other way around, Marsh above her, both of them enjoying themselves. Now that Christina couldn’t look at him anymore, Craig didn’t even make an attempt to be decent about it, he full on stared at Stan.

 

It was fortunate that Stan did not look up. He was busy sticking his nose into Christina’s red curls. They were just as bouncy as Kyle’s (the whole reason she was here, but Stan was miles from admitting that) but not as tight. Nor was her face similar to his. She had far more freckles, which burst across her cheeks like stars across a night-sky. Stan sloppily kissed over them, murmuring something about loving redheads in general, which Christina obviously liked.

Or maybe it was the motion of Stan’s hips and the shift of his dick inside of her. Either way, she let her approval be heard and Stan seemed feverishly encouraged by it, kissing down to her neck as his hips snapped into a rhythm. Nothing slow, nothing too rough. His mutterings were that of a madman, praising her reverently for her body and patience.

 

From this angle, it looked like Stan was actually currently fucking Broflovski and before Craig could discard that thought as a funny little thing to tease him with later, he remembered their strawberry-break along the road.

_ Sometimes, you just need to forget about the world. With someone else _ .

Huh. If he really leaned far out of the window here, it kind of made sense that Stan was over there, banging a redhead, his pretty face buried in red curls, murmuring praise that was probably not really directed at Christina. Craig wouldn’t say anything about it to Marsh. Maybe he was entirely wrong here, maybe he wasn’t. It didn’t really matter because it was clear he just wanted to forget about the world today. And the longer the romp over on the bed held on, the more Craig was itching to just make Stan forget himself, all night long.

It didn’t take all that long. Stan lost himself in the sweet sensation of someone warm and welcoming wrapped tightly around his dick. It was kind of unspectacular, though, even as he pressed a grateful kiss to Christina’s plush lips. It wasn’t the kind of earth-shattering, mind-blowing heat that he’d come to expect from his intimate encounters. It left Stan feeling kind of put out, even though he’d just come. Christina seemed mildly satisfied too, though Stan couldn’t really tell if she’d had a good time, or if she’d just been nice to him. Some girls, he learned, had a knack for being content with very little. Some never let him off of the hook if he didn’t make them come first.

Luckily, she had been the former rather than the latter.

 

“Your friend’s been watching for a while, sweetie.” she commented as Stan sat back and clumsily peeled the rubber from his dick. At those words, however, he stilled, only turning his head until he saw Craig. Right there. In the room. Looking at him.

“...Dude. Tucker. What the fuck are you doing?”

 

“Getting ibuprofen. Judging your skills.  _ Waiting. _ ”

 

Christina chuckled and kissed Stan on the temple before she got up, collecting her clothes. “I’m sorry for keeping you baby boys up for so long, but Stan will probably at least sleep well tonight,” She pointed at Craig’s pants. “Looks like you won’t until you’ve dealt with that, hottie. I’m out though, sleep well, Stan.” On her way out, she managed to wiggle back into her bikini and shirt, stepped into her flip flops and closed the door behind her.

 

Craig’s pale blue eyes were on Stan again. Him kneeling on the bed like that, with his face slightly flushed from exertion but his expression nowhere near sated bliss, Craig wanted nothing more than to jump him right where he was. Instead, he continued to sit on the chair.

“You look good fucking someone.”

 

“Thanks. You always watch your friends fuck?” 

Stan couldn’t believe the gall of Craig. Not that it really mattered and Christina had been super-cool about it (plus points for college girls all the way), but what if it hadn’t been just a casual thing? What if it made Stan’s dick shrivel up to know he was being watched?

Fuck, who had raised this asshole? Stan’s rage swam in and out of his mind, still addled by the pleasure of a somewhat rewarding orgasm. He sat back, sweeping sweaty hair out of his face.

 

“Let’s say it’s not my first time watching, but it’s not usually something I do because I want to. Clyde doesn’t really leave you a chance.”

Marsh looked slightly pissed. It was a good look on him, combined with the light dust of red on his cheeks. Craig’s dick was pretty interested and shorts weren’t really good at covering his half-hard problem up, but they were alone and the curtains were closed anyway. Nothing Marsh hadn’t seen before.

Craig’s gaze wandered appreciatively over Stan’s bare body.

“You don’t look as if she really succeeded in putting you to bed properly.”

 

“That’s not _her_ fault.”  Stan had two options here; give Craig the cold shoulder and roll into his sheets, feigning sleep until his roomie left him alone. That was the first and boring option. The second saw him make use of this...unfortunate state of non-satisfaction that his quick romp with Christina had left him in.  He hadn’t really tried  _ flirting  _ with Craig before. All of their previous encounters had been Craig’s idea, more or less.

“It’s yours, for making me think of you.” He rose from the bed, naked as the day he was born. Maybe he just wanted to see what kind of effect he could have on Craig, “And now you’re sitting there with a boner. That my fault?”

 

Now that was definitely new. To his own surprise, Craig found himself straighten up slightly, leaning forward ever so slightly. He couldn’t cover up that eager a motion, but he could just live with it, casually. Marsh was bringing out the heavy equipment here and Craig found that he was indeed very much into him being so forward.

“Entirely yours. Like I said, you look real good when you’re fucking. I was wondering just how good that’d make you look on your back, taking it.”

Stan’s body was well toned, Craig especially had a liking for his thighs. When their eyes met, Craig felt a jolt of heat race down his spine.

 

His little flirt was working out well. Still somewhat drunk on his orgasm and the night spent partying, Stan had heaps of confidence. He got up and approached Craig. He ought to be proud that he didn’t wobble around, but Stan’s mind was entirely blank except for the urge to be close to Craig. On his back, getting fucked. That’s how Craig wanted him. And damn, Stan wasn’t remotely put off by the thought. Christina looked like she’d had a great time. Granted, Stan didn’t have the same equipment to use, but the thought of someone fucking him into sweet oblivion was pretty good. That someone being Craig was better.

With confidence, he climbed into Craig’s lap, naked as he was. Two hundred pounds of quarterback were not an easy thing to enjoy, but Craig could take it.

“You know something, Tucker? I’m not tired at all. Wanna put me to bed instead?”

 

Craig’s hands were on him before he could even think about it, running over his chest and then down to his sides where he got a good grip on his hips.  Stan looked fucking amazing, throning on him with that slightly drunk, but confident smirk on his face.

“I sure do, baby.” Craig heard himself say, his voice strangely hoarse and filled with more admiration than he had aimed to reveal. He dug his fingers into Stan’s sides, ran them over the firm curve of his ass and squeezed. At the same time, he pressed his hips up, his own, rapidly swelling dick right where he wanted it, just with less shorts and more lube involved. Marsh looked like a young god, the orange light of the nightstand’s lamp next to the bed illuminating him from behind. Craig marveled at him before he reached for his chin and pulled him down into a kiss filled with ravenous desire.

 

Craig’s kiss muffled him, which was probably a good thing, before Stan mumbled more heated nonsense. He was grinding into Craig’s lap already, he didn’t need to make it more obvious by speaking. It hadn’t been like this with Christina, mere moments ago. This was an entirely different heat. It didn’t just ball in the pit of his stomach, in consumed all of him, as one. Stan moaned into the kiss, his hands loose and free, wandering down until he could palm Craig’s dick through his shorts. He wasn’t confused anymore. He knew exactly what he wanted. After the lukewarm performance with Christina, his mind was crystal clear.

“Craig,” he spoke against Craig’s lips, not at all bothering to stop kissing him, only pausing for breath and punctuated words, “I want you to fuck me.”

 

Craig made a noise in his throat and his breath actually hitched audibly. Despite his experience and despite his cool exterior, Craig was just a guy with certain needs. And considered that he’d been thinking about what it would be like to fuck Marsh basically since they sat next to each other on the way here, it was kind of a little bit of a dream come true to hear him say that.

“Oh, I’ll fuck you so good, I promise. Get on the bed.” Craig squeezed his ass one last time and then waited until Stan had moved before he went to retrieve the lube from the bathroom (which is where he usually jerked it). No need for laying on hands on his own tonight though, because Marsh looked so down to fuck it made Craig’s dick twitch. Sitting on his knees on the bed, looking expectant and horny, Stan was almost too much for him. Craig tried to reel in his own galloping urges to get on him and fuck him right there and then and instead sauntered over to kneel down behind him, arms around him, positioning him to face the headboard of the bed. Only then he bent him over and pulled his legs apart, exposing his ass in a way that was probably responsible for the red on Stan’s face intensifying. Craig leaned down to kiss on the small of his back, fingers splayed over the warm skin of his butt.

“Relax, Marsh, you’ll love this, I’ll make sure of it.”

Trailing his head down further, Craig licked and kissed his way down between Stan’s cheeks, taking great care to prepare him for what was to come. When Marsh was busy with having Craig’s tongue in places he himself didn’t seem to be all that familiar with, Craig squeezed lube on his own hand, spread it generously over his fingers and then added those to their little party as well.

 

It was a party alright. A party in Stan’s ass. He didn’t really waste any time thinking about how weird it was, because Craig was on him like he’d been paid for it. Stan couldn’t picture anyone not eagerly moaning when someone attended to your needs so readily. It was exactly what his spontaneous decision-making process had expected out of Craig, and it felt great not to be disappointed. Stan was ready to throw his gay virginity out of the window. 

“Fuck, that feels weird, but don’t stop,” he babbled when fingers began to wriggle inside of him. It wasn’t unpleasant in the sense of pain, since Craig seemed to have spent half the bottle of lube on his hand, but the sensation of someone trying desperately to get inside of him was alien to Stan. Sure, there’d been a cheeky finger slipped behind his balls on the occasional blowjob from girls (Wendy had a particular knack for it) but nothing like this. His face was pressed into pillows, his ass was sticking up into the air and Stan didn’t feel an ounce of embarrassment.

 

“You’re doing great.” Craig hummed, content with Stan’s process. Marsh’s ass was tight, but he was willing and opened up readily around him. It was going smoother than he had expected, really. He really had to keep himself from thinking about how it’d be to just push his dick into him instead of a third finger, to just fuck Marsh until he came with no regard whatsoever to him. Craig could be violent, in bed as well, but he was quite sure Marsh couldn’t take that kinda stuff just yet. So he continued to be careful and gave Stan the best preparation he could. Once he had three fingers in him, Marsh made little noises that riled Craig up so much he was breathing hard by the time he deemed him ready for the main course.

He drew back his lube-slick hand and proceeded to get up and step out of his shorts. Craig’s dick was hard and leaking, but he didn’t touch it more then necessary to get lube on it.

  
“Sit up, come on," Marsh obeyed, and Craig sat down on the bed, back leaned against the headboard, smirk on his lips, “Get on my dick, baby.”

 

Stan’s eyebrows shot up. Craig was sprawled before him in all of his glory, and yeah, he was stupidly hot, especially with his dick hard and eager, glistening. Stan’s breath grew shorter the longer he looked at him. 

He was ready. Definitely. He pushed away any notion of awkwardness as he moved to straddle Craig. This was a little like when they’d dry-humped, except there was nothing in the way, and Stan’s throat dried out just thinking about what he was going to do. To distract himself, he leaned down to kiss Craig. He tasted ashy as usual, but it was a dear and familiar taste by now. One of Stan’s hands wrapped around Craig’s dick, gently pulling it to rest against his ass. It felt enormous, all of a sudden, but Stan remembered how much it had turned him on to feel this thing slide between his cheeks, so he didn’t allow himself to get intimidated. Pushing the tip in quickly, however, turned out to be a mistake. Stan stilled, biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper.

“Fuuuck. Holy fucking _shit_.”

 

“Shh.” Craig brought out, concentrated on holding still, allowing Stan to take all the time he needed. This was gonna end quick and unsatisfying if he rushed him now.  His hands came up to rub Stan’s back soothingly.

“You can take it. Just go real slow, Stan. Take your time. We can fuck all you want when you’re comfy.” His own voice was strained from trying to keep himself under control. Stan’s thighs were trembling, so he ran his hands over them, stroking him, then up to his dick. His lubed hand served well to distract him a little. Craig would’ve blown him if their position would allow it, everything in order to get that hot, snug feeling all around his dick. He’d think about the fact that Stan Marsh, South Park’s golden boy, was currently willingly impaling himself on his dick later. Giving it thought now would probably have him come before he was even fully inside of him.

 

Craig’s advice would have had Stan snap at him under any other circumstance, but with half a dick poking his insides, Stan was a very silent glare personified. He knew he could take it, Craig wasn’t that well-endowed, it just felt like a pike rather than a hard piece of flesh right now. Stan’s hands were on the headboard, holding on tightly. If he was touching Craig right now, he’d be ripping his hair from his head. Why did he think this was such a good idea? Stan moved his hips, a little, just to feel the intrusion. It touched him everywhere, and that had his knees buckle. Good thing he was already sitting, because he might have slumped over otherwise.

“It feels huge. I know it’s not, but it feels...fuck.” He wasn’t really talking to Craig, more to himself as he inched further onto the awaiting cock. The pain fizzled fairly quickly, and Stan could appreciate feeling so _full._

 

Craig was definitely gonna come back to him about that comment later on (his dick wasn’t  _ that _ small!), but right now, Marsh’s ass held him tightly in its spell.  Especially when he rocked his hips ever so slightly, testingly, Craig couldn’t help the low groan and the curse tumbling out of his mouth.  His grip on Stan’s hips tightened.

“F-fuck! You and your goddamn virgin ass, Marsh, I swear,  _ shit. _ ..”

Once Stan was fully seated, Craig canted his hips up, pressing himself even deeper into him until they both moaned. Even though Marsh was riding him, Craig tried to rock his hips ever so lightly.

 

Craig was trying, but Stan was in charge of their pace. It was only fair, considering it was his ass that was on the line here. He moved around until he found something that felt great. Craig slid against a part of him that had Stan sputter and gasp. Ah. That must be the magic spot that he hadn’t been sure he had.

“C-Call me Stan when you’re inside of me, jerk,” he moaned, the tension in his spine melting away the more he rubbed Craig’s dick against his insides.

 

Craig’s eyes were glued to Marsh’s body, the way his skin shone in the dim light, how his hair was messy and his cute face scrunched up in concentration. He needed to move, soon, needed more than just Stan lightly wiggling about and he had promised him to fuck him thoroughly. The feeling wouldn’t leave Craig that that was exactly what Marsh needed right now, but then again, Stan was still getting used to having dick inside of him. From the looks of it, he was enjoying himself though which was good. It didn’t help though that Stan looked amazing like this, it made his desire burn all the brighter, the urge to throw him down and just fuck him was probably written in his hungry eyes.

“Stan...” He groaned, leaning his head back against the wall, “Are you gonna stop being a goddamn cocktease and ride my dick properly?”

 

“You’re an impatient fuck, I should have guessed it,” Stan wasn’t usually so much of a talker, but Craig wasn’t giving him much choice. He supposed that wasn’t an essential difference to sleeping with a girl, but just a feature of sleeping with a jerk like Craig fucking Tucker. Who felt like he was splitting him open, despite the generous application of lube and somewhat gentle prep. Stan sank down anyway with a heavy groan, fully seated on a very hard dick. It was fucking weird. But good. Still good. Did he feel good? Was Craig losing his mind over it? He hoped so, because the sensations pulsing from the cock deep inside of him were starting to make Stan lose what little reason and rationality he had left. Against his better judgement, he rolled his hips and gasped.

 

Craig inhaled sharply and then hummed, finally cracking open his eyes and looking at Stan with some intensity. He let Marsh move his hips, one, two, three times before he started moving with him, as far as was possible, pushing up and into him. Hand on his hips, Craig did his best to support Stan’s movements and while it was hot and all and Craig felt like he could come any second if he didn’t pay attention, it turned out, after a few minutes, that this just wasn’t how both of them wanted it. Marsh seemed to enjoy dick inside of him, but then again, he didn’t really let loose and still looked kind of constipated about the whole situation. Craig’s arms came up to wrap around his midsection and he kissed his chest when he pushed him backwards gently.

“Think this is gonna be better. Trust me, Stan. Here.”

The sight alone of Marsh spread and naked under him had Craig’s blood rush faster, but he took enough care to push some pillows under Stan’s ass in order to make this more comfortable for the both of them.

  
  


Again, with the trust thing. Craig had mentioned it before, but it seemed infinitely more important when their bodies were tangled together like this. Stan swallowed his pride and objection, laying back. His eyes met Craig’s and he searched him for any hint of smug satisfaction. Some part of him continued to suspect Craig was doing all of this as a prank, but he found no malice. Just...desire. Desire that sent liquid fire through his veins. It was better this way around, Craig was right. Stan could wrap his legs around Craig’s ass and pull him closer. The dick inside of him shifted accordingly and for the first time, it brushed hard against Stan, exploding stars behind his eyelids for just one, addictive second.

“Holy... _Craig_ ,” he gasped, surprised by the sensation.

 

Craig grunted into Stan’s neck, then raised his head again to look at him. He was supporting his weight with his elbows to the left and right of Marsh’s sides and now got one of the hands on his head, running his fingers through sweaty, black strands. Even though nothing much had changed for him in terms of sensation, the position made all the difference. Marsh below him, with his flushed face and surprised expression, dark blue eyes cloudy with lust, this was rubbing Craig just the right way. And the little gasp he’d made? The way his body had tensed up for just a second? That was what he was here for alright.

Craig leaned in to kiss his chest from where he looked up to focus on Marsh’s face.

“I promise you I’ll make you come so good you’ll never be able to forget it.” If that was true or not didn’t matter, it was hot to say and Craig really did want to see an unhinged Stan Marsh writhing under him as he thought he experienced the best orgasm of his life. Craig rolled his hips, slowly, then faster.

 

It was a hefty promise, considering Craig had no idea of Stan’s previous sex experiences. Fortunately for him, though, Stan hadn’t been all that adventurous prior to this ‘summer camp’ trip. Which was probably why he was here, having a weird summer fling with all sorts of strange experiences attached to it. Whatever. Stan wasn’t thinking right now, not when Craig was rolling his damn hips and his damn dick felt damn magical. A wail of a moan broke out of his throat, tearing past his lips before he could stop it. Stan didn’t have the presence of mind to be embarrassed, but his hands did find the skin of Craig’s back and they dug, none too gently. He needed to ground himself and if he left long, angry marks on Craig’s back, then Craig deserved it. The dirty talking, limited as it was, doing all sorts of things to Stan’s untouched dick, which lay lonely against his stomach but was ready to drip its messy load between them anyway. Stan moaned again, this time, not denying the name that fell out along with the wanton noise. Craig’s name. He was moaning for Craig fucking Tucker, asking him to fuck him harder.

 

Craig wasn’t particularly into pain, but having Stan fucking Marsh claw into your back while at the same time moaning your name and clinging to you like his life depended on it with those goddamn nice thighs of his was totally worth it. His hands were on Marsh’s hips now as he complied with Stan’s wish and went harder and faster, his hips slamming against his ass in a merciless rhythm that Craig could, physique-wise, keep up but not for much longer because, well, he was still a teenager after all, eager to fuck but even more eager to come. Out of the blue, Craig grabbed Stan’s chin and squeezed his cheeks in lightly, breaking the fast pace and instead resuming to fucking him more deeply, slowly now just so they could look at each other for this moment. Both of them were breathing hard and Craig’s voice was particularly gravelly when he spoke.

“You feel fantastic, Stan. I want you to know that there is no way I’m going to pull out. You’re gonna take it all like the good boy you are, right?”

 

Normally, Stan would be tempted to punch someone being such an extraneous ass to him. However, Craig’s every motion was currently dictating Stan’s life. His body was nothing but a writhing mess, completely hooked on Craig’s hips, the feel of his thrusts, the fill of his dick. Stan didn’t want to think, remember or reflect on what he was doing. He wanted Craig to fuck him into sweet oblivion because damn it, it felt good.  Even the way he grabbed his face and demanded from him was turning Stan on. He looked up, eyes hazy, lids heavy, his lips parted as he breathed hard.

"Y-yeah. I...I want you to. Fucking come in me, Craig.”

 

That was probably one of the hottest things Craig had ever heard, but he managed to hold on still, determined now to get Stan to his own release before he got there. The hand disappeared from Marsh’s face and instead he hooked it into his knee, pushing him back a little, for better access and for, hopefully, the right angle to get him just where he wanted him. On top of that, this made for a great position to see Stan come all over himself, but that was secondary right now. Craig was chasing after both of their highs and pretty much fucking Marsh with abandon now, pushing into him as deep and hard and fast as he could.

 

It was not how Stan had anticipated his first time with a guy to go. At all. But all visions of red curls and sweetly whispered confessions had flown out of the window, and Stan felt too good to feel guilty right now. He could apologize to his aching heart later, when the fire in his body went out.  He openly gasped and moaned, his hips rising off of the bed in an effort to melt his body into Craig’s. He was close to something, and it was going to make him lose his mind. If this was what sex with guys was like all the time, Stan was definitely going to invest his time into getting some fuck buddies. _ Jesus Christ. _

“I’m...fuck, Craig, I’m so close!”

 

“Good.” Craig growled, his voice low and breathless, his usually so pale eyes darker from the way his pupils had dilated. His whole body felt like it was on fire and it consumed everything, even the pang of guilt that was in him somewhere. Stan needed to come and then Craig needed to follow him and it would be bliss, shared between two lonely guys at summer camp.

"Just let go, baby.” He whispered and Craig had never thought he’d ever say that to anyone else but Tweek.

 

Stan met his gaze, one more time. And to see Craig’s usual ice turned into that same, confused state that he’d had under the moonlight on their first night did him in. Stan’s breath caught in his throat and he grew tight around Craig’s shaft, squeezing the life out of him as pleasure hit him hard, coursing around his body as an intense wave. All the way down to his toes, he could feel it. Stan arched off of the bed, whining a moan and a whisper, holding onto Craig as if his life depended on it. And still, he was staring at his face. Even when he fell back to earth and to the bed, he couldn’t look away from the stormy grey-blue of Craig Tucker’s eyes. He realized with an exhausted, sated and lonely thought, that he could be everything Stan wanted. This guy that he thought he hated, and didn’t use to know at all. Stan’s heart thundered in his chest, and it wasn’t just because he’d just had a damn good orgasm.

 

Originally, Craig had planned to watch Stan come, but when he looked at him with that slight frown creasing his expression otherwise screaming pleasure, the confusion in his gaze, when he felt the way Marsh clung to him like his life depended on him and like he never wanted to be somewhere else, Craig couldn’t help himself anymore. Together with Stan, he found release, inside of the guy he thought he just wanted to mess with and here he was, beautiful and strong with a high chance of actually being as troubled as Craig himself felt all the time. Craig kept moving inside of him until they were both completely spent and fell back into reality, onto the bed. His face was pressed against Stan’s stomach, there was sticky, warm liquid on his chest now, but he couldn’t care less. When he finally had caught enough breath to look up, Stan was still staring at him and Craig activated his last reserves to push himself up and kiss Marsh, gently, lovingly because somehow, that felt like the right thing to do.

They were both breathing hard, revelling in the experience they’d shared. Whatever was happening back at the party had zero weight compared to this. Stan didn’t feel bad. He felt...great. Desired, sated even. And to be honest, with the way Craig was kissing him now, he felt a little loved too. If this was what it was like to be with Craig Tucker, then Stan understood what Tweek was so hung up about.

The thought was a stray and Stan banished it as Craig licked his way into his mouth again.

His body twitched with interest and they parted from their longing kiss. Whether they wanted each other, or were happy to pretend they weren’t with each other here and now, didn’t matter.

 

A ready little smirk stretched Stan’s lips.

“Is that all you got, Tucker?”


	13. Chapter 13

It was the first, but not the last time they fucked. Actually, it opened the floodgate. Stan, as he discovered, was voracious when it came to it. Sex with Craig was easy (to initiate), enjoyable (he came more or less every time) and free of consequences. A summer fling was just that, and if they were both using each other to forget their woes and unreachable dreams, then all the more power to them. 

Except that by the time the four weeks were up, Stan no longer felt the same about Craig fucking Tucker. He wasn’t the guy he bickered with and punched for fun, even though they still fought like cats and dogs. Maybe it was because they’d spent nights on the beach, holding each other in silent company, or smoking shoulder to shoulder as they contemplated the ocean. Maybe it was because their teamwork became so good that even Mason was backing off of forcing them into ‘therapy’ proximity.

And maybe it was because they had entirely too much sex with each other for Stan to continue pretending he hated Craig and his ways. Every jab was an invitation, every insult worth its weight in kisses, every challenge to fight ended in frantic bodies, writhing together to get off.

Stan still knew that he was madly in love with Kyle. But, just maybe, he was a little in love with Craig Tucker too.

 

Craig wasn’t faring much better. 

Over the past four weeks, Stan Marsh had become a constant in his life, so much that he did his very best to blend out the fact that after summer camp, things would undeniably come to an end. Currently, he had Stan pressed against the bathroom door in their apartment, their fingers crossed, hair still wet from the earlier shower. On their beds, their bags were packed, the apartment looking tidy for once now that they had gathered all their stuff that had slowly spread everywhere. Craig’s Nintendo 3DS charger there, Stan’s notepad here, their clothes spread all around in what had been their summer camp bubble which had already begun to pop.

But Craig was not so ready to just let it go, he tried to savour the last moments they had together like this and it tasted like the cherry coke Stan had downed before showering.

 

Stan let himself be pinned, he enjoyed it, had his eyes closed even when Craig looked at him and greedily returned the kiss, his body flush to Craig’s.  They hadn’t talked about this, probably wouldn’t especially now that there wasn’t much time left and they’d rather both spend their last few minutes alone sucking each other’s faces off.

 

Craig was sure though that Marsh knew, as well as he did, that this would come to its undeniable end once they walked out there. He didn’t know what it was about this guy, but his urge to rile him up hadn’t subsided, it had just evolved into something else. He loved to see Marsh’s face scrunched up with anger, or pleasure, any kind of strong emotion connected to him and that was the whole point. Craig _loved_ it, in a way he had never expected, not with yet another guy, especially not with Stan Marsh.

He had long since given up on the fact that he wasn’t gay, he was pretty gay and he took it with dignity. Sure, that meant he owed Tweek at least an apology, but that was open for contemplation when he was back home.  Now, he liked to think that when Marsh and he kissed long enough, at some point their hearts would start beating in the same rhythm and the thought was so odd and comforting at the same time, Craig reveled in it.

They weren’t going to complain about it, they weren’t even speaking about it, but when they finally broke the kiss because it was time to leave and Craig leaned his forehead against Stan’s, the look they shared saying more than a million words could have. Craig was grateful to him, he was lucky to have shared this with Stan, he promised him it would stay a secret, he appreciated Marsh in a whole new way, he trusted him and, on top of everything else, in a weird, new part of his heart that wasn’t occupied by Tweek, Craig loved him.

 

It was their kiss goodbye that brought Stan the first instance of pain.

He didn’t say anything about it, and neither did Craig. When they parted, it was permanent. They were done. Summer, in this regard, was over. The bubble had dried up and reality was waiting eagerly to suck them back. 

The bus was already waiting before the hotel, the amiable chatter of the rest of the team filling the air. Stan pushed his headphones on, grateful to have charged his phone fully this time. They were going home. A stronger team of easily tanned Colorado boys, all with their best summer memories made. Clyde in particular was covered in morning-fresh hickeys and waving his goodbyes to his assembled, new friends with a dreamy expression. Better than tears.

Stan smiled to himself as he boarded the bus. Sixteen hours, and he’d see Kyle. His heart skipped a beat at the thought. Their long separation was over, and Stan would return home with confidence. Craig...Craig gave that to him. Stan knew now what he’d been so anxious about before. Stan knew what he wanted, and that this last year of highschool might be the last chance he had to be with Kyle. College, football scholarships...the chances that they would part were too high for him to risk it.

Maybe Kyle wouldn’t want to be with him. But Stan would give him the choice and finally nut up and confess. He’d put it off for far too long. Stan found a solitary seat towards the back of the bus and sank against the window, bag between his legs, full of sandwiches and snacks. It felt like a full circle, being here. From the window, he could see the beach. It would be the guardian of his secret, his and Craig’s bubble. They’d always have this summer to look back on. It was one worth remembering.

That should have been the sentiment for his return. Anxious joy about seeing Kyle, and closure about the summer fling with Craig.

 

Except, it wasn’t.

Not for long, anyway. Every song on his phone was...wrong. Poorly timed, too morose, too sappy. Everything that he tried seemed to be attached to a moment with _Craig_.  Frustrated, Stan pulled his headphones out. The bus was filled now, their luggage pushed inside and their driver wrangling Mason and his assistant coaches on. Stan contented himself with staring at the California scenery instead.

 

With purpose, Craig had gotten on the bus earlier than Stan, had picked out a seat and sat down with Clyde. Intent on not repeating what he’d done on their ride here, Craig tried to sit with his best friend even though everything in him strained to go further to the back of the bus where Stan had disappeared to.  For the first hour, Clyde told him all about his four different girlfriends that he all had to leave behind (and mind you, he hadn’t stopped with the cheer squad, some local girls had found their way into the flock as well). By the start of the third hour, Clyde was asleep again, mouth open, head sunk on Craig’s shoulder. At least he looked happy.

Craig wasn’t happy. He would go home to sulking about Tweek, seeing the guy he loved every day, unable to do something about it because Tweek avoided him like the plague. Really, he had nothing to look forward to. Everything that he wanted _and_ that he could have was here on the bus, probably snuggled up in his own jacket somewhere in the back of the bus.

The thought made his blood start rushing and his heartbeat faster. Craig didn’t particularly enjoy the physical abnormalities that came with having a crush, being in love, that kinda thing. He always noticed them way too quickly and then couldn’t blend them out until he finally did something about it. For the third hour, he tried though, hard, to think about something else, even allowed himself to recall some memories with Tweek, just so he would calm down about Stan.

But then, during hour number four, just when he thought he had managed and he was finally not way too warm and way too far away from Stan anymore, the bus stopped; piss break.  What made him get up was the need for a restroom, sure, but his full bladder hadn’t exactly told him to go buy cherry coke after, walk towards the bus like in a trance and stand in front of Stan’s seat in the back of the bus, holding out his offering like an idiot.

 

Stan had passed four hours mostly by sleeping. When the bus pulled up for a break, he’d been quick to go relieve himself and return to the empty, dark bus before anyone else. Not because he was feeling particularly antisocial, but somehow, avoiding Craig now felt better than facing the miserable realisation that he mourned their closeness, he mourned their secret and their bubble. He’d just settled against the window again when someone blocked the overhead lamp he’d turned on. Stan was going to ignore the way his breath hitched at the sight of who it was that decided to bother him. His eyes slowly ticked over Craig and to the coke.

“For me?” he knew it was, but he asked anyway.

 

At the reaction, Craig felt inclined to just turn and leave. He had it bad for Marsh, really bad, that little part of him that belonged to Stan now, revolted at the thought of him just wasting opportunity to be close to him.

“Yeah.”

It was the only thing he said, eyes locked on Marsh’s. Stan looked at him again and they stayed like that for a moment before Stan finally, finally took the bottle and sat up, moving to the side. All the invitation Craig needed to let himself fall onto the seat next to him.

“I didn't used to like cherry coke.”

He surely did now, because Stan’s taste mixed with the typical taste of coke and the sweetness of artificial cherry was downright addictive. When Stan took a sip, Craig wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss him, but he resisted the urge successfully and instead tried to focus on the fact that he’d already given up one resolution (not sitting next to Stan again), he was surely not going to give up another (not kissing Stan anymore).

 

Stan accepted the offering and the company. It was quiet, the rest of the boys having shuffled off of the bus. Stan sipped sweet, sticky coke and ignored the way his stomach tingled at Craig’s presence. He was so close. God, Stan missed throwing himself against his body and just reveling in Craig fucking Tucker’s existence.

How things had changed.

Deciding that the offering of coke was enough to make his mood benevolent, Stan reached out. His hand brushed over Craig’s, and he looped their fingers together.

“I never really thanked you for saving my ass so much when we played the Cubs.”

 

Craig did nothing to resist the fact that Stan was holding his hand. Much the opposite, he returned the gesture with a little squeeze to Marsh’s hand and then continued to keep their fingers close to each other.

“Just did my job.” He said, rubbing his thumb lightly over Stan’s skin and turned his head towards him, a small smirk playing around his lips, “And besides, you said plenty of thank you. Just not with your voice.” The last sentence Craig whispered and Stan’s following reaction kind of completed the pact between them. This bus ride was just a bubble of its own, a bubble that would automatically burst once they reached South Park, but right now, they were in it and they were holding hands under Craig’s jacket messily stuffed between them when the bus continued its journey home.

No one seemed to question their sudden friendship. Or at least, no one was taking any issue with their proximity. Not that anyone really cared that much, but Stan felt as if the world was always shining a floodlight on his life and choices.

His heart calmed down, eventually. He and Craig didn’t speak. They held hands, even when each of them sunk into their thoughts or music. Stan watched the landscape darken, then he watched the lights of the passing cars. It felt right. Like their summer wasn’t...quite over. Not until they reached South Park. That was the unspoken deal. Stan could pretend that he and Craig meant something to each other, that they could be like this, for a little longer.

Stan fell asleep sometime around the tenth hour of their journey, and he did so against Craig’s shoulder, feeling more at home than anything else.

 

Stan wasn’t exactly a light little cherry blossom, the guy weighed quite a lot, but Craig let him rest there, pretending to sleep himself. Maybe sleep caught him, maybe it didn’t, Craig couldn’t really tell, but when he opened his eyes next, the lights had just gone out in the bus and he could see his teammates outside walking towards a roadside diner for food. A quick glance over the seats, no other heads in sight. He and Stan were alone. Perhaps it was that knowledge, or it was the darkness engulfing them, or maybe it was just Craig having woken up horny, but Stan’s weight leaned against him set his skin on fire, aroused him enough for him to simply pull Marsh into a searing hot kiss once he shook him awake.

 

So much for their vague promise of finality. Stan didn’t, couldn’t, for the life of him, object to the kiss. It felt too good for him to fight it off. Craig’s familiar mouth, fitted against him, set his sleepy body aflame, immediately recalling just how good they were at this. He didn’t even check if anyone was around. If Craig was kissing him like this, they must have been alone. Stan didn’t question it, didn’t ask himself if they should even be doing this in the first place. It was right.

A whine escaped him, but it was impossible for them to fit together more closely. Not in a space this confined. Maybe a slender, little guy could have done it, but there was too much of Stan and too little space in their seats for him to climb on top of Craig now. He broke the kiss with a wet little pop, drawing back just enough to look into Craig’s eyes. The lust he saw there was a perfect mirror of his own, mixed with confused longing and desperation.

“Let me blow you. One last time.”

 

Craig made a low noise in his throat.

“Fuck… why do you even ask?” He kissed Stan again, eager for more contact between them. His blood was rapidly gathering south as memories of Stan blowing him in the shower, on the bed, at the beach, and in the communal showers after practice flooded his mind. Inexperienced two weeks ago, Stan had developed a really steep learning curve and Craig could appreciate that some more, right? He put in the work to get Marsh to this point, right? His hand found its way onto the back of Stan’s neck and he pulled him down towards his crotch.

“Come on, babe, don’t make me wait…  _ Need you _ .”  The first instance of abstinence in the past two weeks and he broke it by being so horny he was basically begging for it… Bad score, Tucker, really bad.

He couldn’t get himself to feel bad though because his body was on fire and Stan was mouthing at his goddamn dick through the soft fabric of his jogging pants and that made him both breathless and so incredibly hard he was straining when Stan finally freed him from clothing.

 

It wasn’t difficult to free Craig. It also wasn’t difficult to gently nuzzle his hard dick and promise it one last, beautiful ride in Stan’s mouth. His body shivered, wishing for a different kind of relived memory, but he'd settle for any kind of action that allowed him to touch Craig. Just one last time, before they resumed their violent ignorance of one another.

“I'm gonna miss your dick,” he whispered, and he meant it. They didn't have time to talk about this, and neither of them would want to, right now, but Stan knew what his body craved and it wasn't hard to tell that Craig did too. Stan descended into Craig's lap with newly practiced ease, closing his lips around Craig's dick and humming in his throat. There was no time for elaborate technique now, and neither did Stan want to get busted with his mouth on Craig's dick.

 

The heat enclosing him was heavenly, and Craig couldn’t help the pleased groan escaping him. His hands came up to thread through Stan’s hair, gently petting him as he worked his newfound magic on Craig’s cock. After that noise though, he kept mostly silent, except for a few grunts and gasps. Only his faster breathing and his hand in Stan’s hair, touches becoming increasingly more uncoordinated as Craig rapidly approached his release.

He wanted to savour it, really, but Stan’s tongue and his warm mouth drove him insane. Craig tried to not move his hips, but he couldn’t keep himself from pushing his a tiny little bit into Marsh’s welcoming mouth every time he bobbed his head.

"You’ve gotten s-so good at this, f-fuck… _Stan…_ ” Craig really hoped Stan wanted to swallow because one, it was gonna be a mess if he didn’t and two, Craig was really fucking close.

 

Stan couldn’t reply to him, of course, his mouth was full of hot dick and damn it if he didn’t love it. He knew he had it bad when he could get hard over giving someone a blowjob. There was no way they could do more for each other within the confines of the bus, and the ever-present threat of discovery was making this a rushed affair. Stan mourned the fact that he couldn’t take his time to make Craig melt for him just one, last time, but they were already past that time. They’d fucked in the hotel before the bus ride home, and yet, it didn’t feel like it had been enough.

Craig was coming too soon. Stan swallowed greedily, drinking down the evidence of their illicit, spontaneous idea, but he wouldn’t pull back just yet. Craig’s dick was hitting the back of his throat, and yet Stan moved his tongue and lips as if they were back to kissing. It was slow and affectionate, how he sucked Craig clean before he came back up, deeply flushed and out of breath. His lips glistened when he wiped a hand over them.

“Had some pineapple, huh?” he whispered with a soft smile.

 

The look he got for that was full of desperate longing, Craig’s icy eyes molten, warm even as he regarded Stan with no small measure of wondrous affection in his gaze. Leaning in, hand still on the back of Stan’s head, Craig kissed him, not caring about the fact that he’d just had his mouth on his dick which was now back to being safely hidden in his jogging pants. They only broke apart when Stan's lips were puffy and red, entirely, pleasantly abused by Craig's mouth and teeth.

Another brief check around and still no one in sight, Craig pushed up the armrest between them and leaned over to unzip Stan’s hoodie. To his pleasure, he found that Stan was only wearing a loose tank top underneath, which he could easily pull aside in favour of revealing tanned skin.

“I’ll give you something to remember.”

Craig’s hand was palming Stan through his own training pants as his lips descended on warm skin. He wasn’t careful, he wasn’t gentle, he just wanted to give his summer camp fling the most long-lasting hickey he could give. When he let go, his lips were tingling, but Stan had a nice, big love mark right under his left collar bone. Stan received another small kiss while his dick was being freed from its confinement before Craig went to complete his job and dove down to return the favour.

 

Some part of Stan wanted to object when Craig sucked a fat mark into his skin. That shit would last, someone would see it, and was bound to question what kind of vicious summer fling had bruised Stan’s skin. Maybe he could blame the fading memory of Christina for it. Just when Stan was about to complain, though, Craig proved himself to be a grateful blowjob-receiver, which was a first. Stan couldn’t keep himself leaned back in his seat and dignified, at all. He crumpled over Craig, stroking his hair (too perfect, and fluffy) and muttered wordless encouragement. He was breathing onto Craig’s neck and he could see the fine hairs on the edge of his hairline stand up. Goosebumps raced over Stan’s body.

“Oh god, Craig, your  _ mouth _ , dude, watch the teeth, fuck!”

Stan’s hands snapped up to cover his mouth and he sat up straight, only to peer over the seats. The bus was still empty, but the lights had flicked on. The driver met his eyes and Stan weakly managed to wave a hand, biting the inside of his cheek. Luckily, the driver didn’t care to come to the back of the bus to investigate.

 

The interruption didn’t deter Craig from continuing to take Stan’s dick deeper into his mouth every time he went down on it. Sure, at some point he couldn’t go on anymore, but Stan’s dick was particularly sizeable and he could be proud of what he’d achieved. Especially when he risked a glance up at Stan who seemed to be entirely losing it, both hands pressed over his mouth, his face red, his eyes blazing with desire. Craig felt goosebumps trailing all over his arms. He wasn’t too fond of giving blowjobs (more in favour of receiving them), but he did in fact reserve them for special occasions. Like this one. It wasn’t just that they didn’t have opportunity to full-on fuck here, it was also the fact that they would part very soon and something in Craig wanted to at least give Stan a last, poignant reminder that he better not forget this summer. Or Craig.

He wasn’t going to pull back either, he made that clear by rubbing Stan’s thighs gently whose whole body was taut under him. When, ten seconds later, Stan still hadn’t come, Craig raised his head and made sure to open his mouth slowly around the dick so no traitorous sound would escape.

“I’ll swallow for you, baby. Do it.”

With that, he resumed his earlier activity, fully prepared to return Stan’s favour.

 

Invitation like that was dangerous. Stan wished he had four hands; two to press to his mouth and keep quiet and two to run over Craig’s head, fingers tangling through that perfect hair. How could he ever forget about their summer if this was going to be their parting shot?  Stan was completely helpless in the face of his oncoming orgasm. His thighs trembled slightly and when he recalled the look Craig had given him earlier in combination with the soft promise to swallow, he really couldn’t hold back anymore. He came, hard, whining into his hands. At the front of the bus, the door opened again and the first of their teammates laughed and chattered as they returned to their seats. Luckily, much further up.

Stan was breathless as he stared down at Craig.

 

Perfect timing, if one could say so. Craig pulled up slowly as to not leave liquid behind that would stain Stan’s pants, then he tucked his dick back into his pants and sat up. In any other situation, their whole evening would have just started with this, blowjobs had been mere foreplay during the past two weeks. But all of that was over now, this here truly the last thing between them.

Well, one last little ace up his sleeve, he still had.

The first ones of their teammates moved past them towards their seats, but Craig made sure to catch Stan’s gaze and hold it for two perfect seconds before he swallowed, very obviously so. The quick flick of his tongue across his lips followed by a small smirk was so very much the essence of their dynamic, Stan was bound to hate it. Love it. Both, actually, as long as he did it with passion.

 

The fucking gall of Craig Tucker brought Stan back from the land of hasty orgasms and he snorted with laughter. This was so stupid. They’d just blown each other on a damn bus because they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other, despite the promise that this thing between them was over. He punched Craig in the shoulder, if only to dodge the imminent urge to kiss him.

The rest of their team trundled onto the bus and Stan’s pounding heart calmed down slowly. They would be back in South Park within a couple of hours, and then it would all end. The taste of Craig’s dick permeated his mouth. Stan washed it down with cherry coke. Somehow, he just couldn’t seem to close the chapter with Craig. It refused to lay still, kept flickering open. Fuck. He wished they’d had more time.

The jacket went back in place, but Stan’s hand didn’t seek Craig’s fingers again. If they kept touching...no. It was done. The bus shenanigans were just their last hurrah. Stan settled back into his seat, watching Craig’s reflection in the window.

 

Once the bus was on its way again and everyone had settled down once more, Craig turned his head to look at Stan.

They weren’t holding hands anymore even though the jacket was there. In a weird way, Craig thought, the jacket and its supposed use symbolized just how things were between him and Marsh now. Things were right there, between them, but they just weren’t grabbing and holding each other under its cover anymore.

His eyes wandered up to glance at Stan’s reflection. Craig didn’t smile at him, didn’t even move, he just looked at him in the window for an undefined, extended period of time. When the first wet snowflake hit the window, Craig was certain that this was the last little remnant of their bubble going down across the glass and disappearing into nothingness.


	14. Epilogue

It was night outside, but the lights from the bus stop illuminated the waiting crowd. Mostly girlfriends, some family members, his own not among them. Not a problem, Craig had gotten a text earlier that his dad was sorry, but the car had broken down a few days ago and they needed to wait for the next paycheck to get it fixed. He didn't mind. The Tuckers didn't have multiple vehicles and getting a cab was a waste of money anyway. It wasn't that far, maybe forty minutes of brisk walking.

Since he was in the aisle seat, had to get up first. He couldn’t see Stan’s reflection anymore anyway and Marsh still had his back turned so Craig got up, grabbed his backpack and left for the baggage claim outside, not saying a word.

 

Stan had spent the remainder of the way home trying to work out why his stomach was churning. He was finally home. South Park was cold and dark beyond the bus and he lingered in his seat until Craig got up. Which was pretty much when the bus pulled into the parking lot in front of the school. 

He should be just as eager as the rest of the team to get off of the bus, and yet, he dragged his feet, following Craig without looking at more than his backpack, slung casually over his navy jacket. Stan swallowed hard. No. This wasn’t a thing. He wasn’t sad about parting company with Craig. They went to the same school, had most classes together, hell they were on the football team together. They would see each other again. This wasn’t even the worst parting of a summer fling.

The cold Colorado air hit him like a punch in the chest.

 

Outside, most of the team had already found their respective partners or family members and there was some hugging, kissing and ruffling of hair going on.

When Stan was just getting his bag handed by the driver from somewhere inside the bus’ baggage compartment, Kyle spotted him, made his way through at least three of his best friend’s teammates in order to jump at Stan and wrap his arms around him. It didn’t matter that people saw them, everyone knew they were super best friends anyway and if they didn’t, well, their loss.

Kyle hugged him tightly, then ruffled his hair and peeled himself away from Stan, just to look him up and down and then full on beam at him.

 

“Dude, you got a beach boy tan, holy shit!”

 

Craig, behind Kyle, shouldered his duffel bag over his left shoulder, the bag with his helmet and other equipment on the right and then his actual backpack in hand.

Maybe Clyde or Token would drop him off somewhere close to home, but he really didn’t feel like asking. He felt like walking home, through the soggy snow, just because that fit his actual mood quite well. For some reason he couldn’t stand listening any longer to Broflovski’s annoying voice.

 

“Kyle!” Stan’s world brightened once more. God, he’d missed everything about Kyle, his voice, his smell (yeah, he was that creepy) and his warm hugs. He didn’t hesitate to hold his best friend up, refusing to release him without a hearty cuddle, Stan buried his face in Kyle’s shoulder, reveling in his presence. Of course his super best friend had come to pick him up. Kyle was the one that Stan had entrusted his car keys to, anyway.

“It’s good to see you, dude.”

 

Kyle smiled at him and Stan’s heart ached, sore with want. But it was the laden back behind Kyle that caught Stan’s attention, dragging his eyes away from his best friend, temporarily.. Craig wasn’t meeting anyone in the parking lot, he just stood there, alone, smoking, holding his bags. He kind of forgot that Craig no longer had a twitchy, blond boyfriend to pick him up or even welcome him home. Craig was...just alone. Stan’s heart pulsed with a familiar stab this time, but it was want all the same. It bullied the sunny relief at being reunited with Kyle aside. Deciding not to be a dick, Stan sucked it up and called out to him.

“Hey, Tucker, you need a ride?”

  
Kyle’s eyebrows were almost meeting his hairline as he gave his best friend his best pantomimic impression of ‘what the fuck, dude’.  He didn’t say anything though and instead turned to look at Craig as well, interested in his reaction, his quick brain trying to puzzle what little pieces he had together.

Craig turned, half way, exhaling smoke. He looked at Stan, but didn’t really.

“And here I thought you had enough of me, Marsh. I’m good. Maybe next time, baby.”

 

He said it dryly enough for Kyle to turn away and roll his eyes. “What a dick, seriously. I kinda hope you gave him that broken nose, really.”

Stan bit back a smile and flipped Craig off. It was probably the most affectionate bird he’d ever flipped and his eyes were far too soft for any kind of offense. He promised, silently, that he was gonna give Craig fucking Tucker a ride, one way or another, some time soon. Craig seemed done talking and Kyle’s words filtered through the temporary cotton on Stan’s ears.

“Nah, wasn’t me. But I can tell you every detail of how it happened. Shit, Kyle, I have so much to tell you. Wanna stay over at my house?”

It was hard to tear his eyes away from the icy, pale blue that had become so dear and familiar. Camp was over. But maybe...they didn’t have to be. Maybe they could find a new, secret little place for their bubble.

 

The smile Stan had suppressed did tug on Craig’s lips, too and he let it when he as well raised his hand to flip Marsh off right back as he turned away. Stan's and Kyle's voices faded into the background as he walked away, finally, but somehow that last little exchange did something to cover up the odd hole that had opened up in his chest, threatening to swallow him whole.

It wasn’t all gone. Their weird little connection lingered, even in South Park.

Maybe they’d fight, or maybe they’d end up naked and breathless together. Hopefully both. Stan Marsh had given a piece of himself to Craig, and it would take more than Broflovski's raised eyebrow to steal it away from him again. 

Even if they never touched each other again, that would be true. Even if Tweek, against all odds, wanted him back and restored the balance of the world by accepting the apology Craig owed him. Even if Stan manned up and told his best friend how desperately in love he was with him.

And if none of that happened...Well, Craig wasn't going to waste any opportunity. 

He flicked his cigarette into the snow. Strange, how he could still taste cherry coke beneath the ashy glaze in the back of his throat.

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy thanks for reading :D!
> 
> Also I know its summer but south park is eternally snowy, just roll with it


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